


Da Capo: Encore

by mistysinkat, sallyamongpoison



Series: Da Capo: The Full Score [12]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety, Dissociation, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, M/M, Manipulation, Parent Issues, Physical Abuse, da capo, mention of alcoholism, mention of gay conversion therapy, mention of past drug addiction, mention of rehab, pregnancy mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 56,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistysinkat/pseuds/mistysinkat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a time when Dorian and Cullen should be celebrating their one-year anniversary, they find themselves in dangerous territory. Welcome to Tevinter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dissonance [1 of 4]

**Author's Note:**

> This is a published roleplay that takes place in the world of Da Capo, after the Second Movement. It's written by Sallyamongpoison (Dorian) and Mistysinkat (Cullen).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian gets some upsetting news from Tevinter.

Marriage was, in no uncertain terms, completely unlike anything Dorian had ever known or come to expect after his life _before._ Before, he would have expected there to be animosity at all times, no love other than the quiet respect for one’s station and abilities and family, but nothing intimate or affectionate. Before, he saw marriage as a _sentence_. It was a union based on everything but the heart. Now, _after_ , and very nearly a year post ‘I do’s,' Dorian could say without question that married life was indeed _for him_.

There were the usual problems, of course - little arguments that came from a union of two people building a life together - but he and Cullen had managed to find a way to work through those in a way that worked for them. They _talked_. They were open and honest and loving, able to take blame when necessary, and every time something came up, he felt like they were able to _grow_ together as opposed to snipe at one another and not move past whatever the problem was. Those times often ended in soft kisses, a willingness to work on whatever behavior had caused the trouble, and the kind of support and understanding that Dorian didn’t know could actually exist before he’d met Cullen. They _worked_ together to make their marriage better, happier, and it was so, so happy.

It was just before noon, a weekend day that they’d decided to spend doing the usual weekend things: laundry, grocery shopping, possibly even taking a peek at house listings when they were feeling brave enough. That kind of talk had started, the kind that left Dorian with mental images of a nice place with a garden and room for the theoretical dog that Cullen seemed to insert into their little family whenever Dorian left him open to it.

They were a family. An actual family, with both each other to lean on and Cullen’s parents and siblings, who had pulled Dorian into their fold with just as much love as they showed their son and brother. That was something he’d had to get used to, but in a good way.

He was only just putting away a bottle of mustard for their lunch, simple sandwiches to have something in their stomachs before braving the farmer’s market and the siren call of free samples, when he paused and turned to look across the counter and living space toward the television. Cullen was in the shower, and Dorian had put on some home renovation show (for possible inspiration later) just to have something to listen to as he worked in the kitchen, but it had cut out to a Breaking News segment that made his blood run cold.

_“There have been reports of a shooting just outside the Minrathous Magisterium Center. Three subjects, part of an anonymous revolutionary group, have fired on a group of Imperium politicians leaving for a caucus in Antiva. So far, no details have been released on casualties or injuries, but Templar forces have cordoned off the area. Details to follow.”_

“Andraste’s blood,” Dorian whispered, and dropped what he was doing to practically sprint to find his phone on the table.

It was already ringing when he grabbed it. Felix. Of course Felix, and Dorian swiped a thumb over the answer button before he pressed it to his ear, “What’s going on?” he asked immediately, no greeting or anything.

“They’re reporting it there too?” Felix asked, voice solemn.

“I just saw it,” Dorian answered, “what happened? Is your father alright?”

A pause, “Yeah, Father’s fine,” then another pause, “but... Maker, Dorian…”

“What?”

“Halward was going to that meeting. Father called me when it happened. He and Mother are going to the hospital, and they said Aquinea’s fucking beside herself.”

Dorian felt his blood go cold, and he just... stopped. His father. Halward Pavus had been shot. His father had been shot and was going to a hospital. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, and his vision tunneled in on itself as it focused on the television screen. It was back to the show he’d been watching, but with a news ticker at the bottom now.

“Dorian?” Felix prompted.

“I’m here,” he answered softly, “I... do they know anything yet?”

“No one knows anything,” Felix replied, “I’m going to meet Father and Mother there. Do you want me to call you when I know anything?”

Instinct kicked in then, “Not while Aquinea’s around,” he answered, “you know how she is. She’ll grab the phone right off you.”

“So what, then?”

“Go, talk to someone, then call me. I’m... Maker, I’ll have to book a flight in.”

It was Felix’s turn to pause, “You’re _coming?_ ”

“I can’t very well stay here while my father can possibly be dying, now can I?” Dorian hissed.

“Right, of course,” Felix answered, “get that sorted out. I’ll send you a message when I know what’s going on and get me your details when you have them.”

“I will.”

“Are you... you’re going to tell Cullen what’s going on, right?”

Fuck. He would have to, wouldn’t he? This wasn’t one of those things he could very well keep from his _husband_ , after all. Especially if it meant having to go back to the Imperium for the Maker only knew how long. Especially... fuck, especially if Halward didn’t make it.

“Of course,” Dorian replied in that same sort of low monotone, “he should know. But go, find out what’s going on. Tell Gereon and Livia I’ll be there, but you have to fucking make them _swear_ they won’t tell Aquinea.”

“You honestly think I can make them not tell her that her son’s coming home for this?”

“...good point. Maybe don’t tell them. I’ll send you the details when I know what they are. Just keep me posted, and-”

“I _know_ , Dorian, okay?” Felix interrupted, “just go. Talk to Cullen. We can figure out the details later.”

He sucked in a deep breath for that, “Yeah. Okay,” Dorian replied, “thanks, Felix.”

“Hey,” Felix prompted softly, “I love you, okay? And you’re not going to have to be alone here, when you... when you get here. Allora and I won’t let that happen.”

Maker bless his wonderful brother. Felix was, other than Cullen, Dorian’s most loved person in all of Thedas. He was a good sort, cared for him deeply, and Dorian knew he would always, honestly, have his best interests at heart. “I love you too,” he answered, “I’ll talk to you in a while.”

“Just... be strong, okay? I know you are.”

“You’re worse than Livia, you know that?” he managed to tease, then quickly hung up to head into the bathroom.

Dorian knocked briefly on the door, but the sound of the shower running and music from the speaker of Cullen’s phone probably drowned it out. He took a moment, steeled himself, and stepped inside the steam filled bathroom. “Cullen?” Dorian called, “I... er... can you shut the water off for a minute?”

\----

There was something in Dorian's voice that made Cullen’s brows knit together over eyes closed against the river of shampoo and water rushing down his face. In the past several years, they'd shared many a shower, but this wasn’t the ‘ _care for some company in there_ ’ voice, nor did he usually ask Cullen to turn the shower off for that, anyway. No, this was the ‘ _something’s very wrong_ ’ voice, the voice that told him he was needed. The voice that Cullen couldn’t and would never deny.

“Sure,” he agreed, and bent to turn the tap off before poking his head out of the curtain. Maker, Dorian looked like he was in a state. Well, to anyone else, he'd have seemed perfectly fine, but to Cullen… it was obvious that there was some sort of storm brewing. To Cullen, it was plain as day, written in a face he knew as well as his own by now. “Hey, what's wrong?” he asked softly, grabbing for a towel and wrapping it around his waist as he moved to step out of the tub.

\----

Dorian bounced a bit on the balls of his feet, partially out of nerves, and partially in impatience for Cullen to get out of the shower so he could move in and wrap his arms around the other man. It didn’t matter that he was still wet, or that Dorian was getting his own clothes completely soaked, he just wanted to feel Cullen’s arms around him and that strong body against his own. He buried his face in the other man’s neck, uncaring of the water that was mussing his mustache, and wrapped his arms around Cullen’s neck.

“I…” he began, but suddenly realized he _didn’t know_ how to explain this. Maker, he could hardly say the words. He could hardly _think_ them. It was just a jumble in his head. “There... in Minrathous. There was a shooting,” Dorian murmured. He still sounded far away and monotone, and for the life of him he couldn’t bring himself up anymore to sound... not detached somehow. “Someone was trying to kill a group of Magisters going to Antiva,” he went on, “Felix... Gereon said Halward was in that group. They’ve taken him to the hospital in Minrathous.”

\----

“Oh,” Cullen breathed and pulled his arms in tighter around his husband. “Oh, no.” A long moment passed between them as Cullen held on as tightly as he could, pressing gentle kisses into dark waves of hair. The emotions involved were… complicated. Cullen had never met Dorian’s parents, had secretly hoped they'd continue to leave them alone and that he'd never have to. Even now, part of him still burned with the same anger that had taken him the night Dorian explained just how vile his parents were… right here in this bathroom, actually.

But really, it didn't matter one bit how _Cullen_ felt about them. What mattered was Dorian and the way he grasped onto and curled into Cullen. What mattered was that the man he loved was so obviously hurting. “I'm so sorry, love,” he finally said, voice gentle and low. “How can I help you through this?”

Sometimes, what Dorian needed was just to be held. Sometimes, what he needed was for someone to listen. Sometimes, he needed a glass of wine or ice cream and a bad movie to laugh at. Cullen rather thought that this time... what Dorian needed might be a little more than any of that.

\----

“I have to go,” he breathed against Cullen’s neck, “I can’t... stay here. Not while he’s in the hospital. If something happens I’ll never forgive myself.” Not that Dorian particularly wanted to _talk_ to either Halward or Aquinea, but he couldn’t stay here and just let whatever happened happen. It was a complicated feeling, the wanting to go and wanting to not move from his current spot in Cullen’s arms, and everything felt so far away for the moment. It was like he was watching a movie of all this and not actively participating.

One hand lifted to tangle in Cullen’s hair and he squeezed his eyes shut, “Felix is going to the hospital with Gereon and Livia. He said he’d... tell me what was going on. But I need to go. I should be there…” Dorian lifted his head to look into warm, brown eyes, “shouldn’t I? That’s what you _do_ , isn’t it?”

\----

“I think you do what feels _right_ to do, and that’s different for everyone,” Cullen replied and raised a hand to cradle Dorian’s head, fingers ruffling through his hair. “And I think… if that was your gut response… to go… maybe that is what you do. What _we_ do, because Maker, I’m not making you go there on your own.”

\----

Dorian hadn’t expected Cullen to offer that. He didn’t know _why_ he didn’t, since Cullen was a good man who loved him and had been there with him through every bad day or rough week or whatever for the last year and then some, but he’d just expected to go alone. That he’d have to go alone and deal with all this. But he didn’t. He didn’t have to be alone. It wasn’t going to be like it had been. It didn’t have to be that way.

“Thank you,” he answered softly before he turned to press a kiss against Cullen’s palm, “I don’t... I can’t even think about it. I feel like this isn’t even real.”

\----

In his head, he was already planning out the things that needed to happen. Tickets, packing, hotel room, maybe a car. This was going to be hard enough on Dorian without forcing the man to worry with logistics. Cullen would happily take all that on one shoulder while offering the other as something to cry on. Not that Dorian was normally the crying sort, but the point was, Cullen would be there in whatever capacity was needed. Even if it meant smiling and playing nice with a pack of snakes, those snakes were Dorian’s _parents_.

Cullen pulled back, just far enough to gaze into troubled, stormcloud eyes. He poured all his sympathy, all his love into that look before he tilted his head to press his forehead against Dorian’s. “It doesn't, does it?” he answered, still using that low tone that he hoped was soothing. “And it won't, not for a while. How… how bad is it?”

\----

“No one knows yet,” he answered almost robotically, “Felix said he’d send me something when they knew more.” One hand smoothed along Cullen’s arm, and Dorian just leaned in and rested his head on Cullen’s chest. “I don’t... Maker, plane tickets are going to be a nightmare. I should deal with that. Do you need to call Garrett?”

As the enormity of what he had to do, travel plans aside, really hit him Dorian was _very_ glad Cullen was going with him. In his mind’s eye he could see Aquinea and her severe face using this as an opportunity to make things worse for him. He couldn’t deal with her alone. Maker help him, if Halward didn’t make it he wasn’t so sure he could handle his mother... mourning. The thought of it made his vision blur, and Dorian felt sick.

He choked a little bit, and swallowed thickly as he tried to keep himself calm. That spiraling panic was calling him, all in his mother’s voice and father’s disappointe glare, and he clutched hard at Cullen just to stay upright. “I’m going to be sick,” he murmured, “I’m going to actually be sick.”

\----

“Hey,” Cullen prompted and tilted his head around to try and catch Dorian's eyes, “Hey, look at me.” The way his husband's musical voice was strained and choking, the way he was fighting just to hold it together at the mere thought of his parents broke Cullen's heart and fueled the anger that had spiked earlier. He'd never met them, no, but he'd seen their handiwork firsthand in the form of anxiety attacks and wine glasses.

“You let me worry about tickets and all that, alright? You concentrate on… just breathing,” Cullen said as he placed one of his large hands over Dorian's beating heart, “and slowing this down.”

\----

Leave it to Cullen to say and do just the thing he needed most. This was why he married him, one of the many reasons, because he always seemed to _know_. Maker bless this wonderful, sometimes ridiculous, man of his. So Dorian inhaled:

_1, 2, 3, 4, 5_

and exhaled:

_6, 7, 8, 9, 10._

He’d learned that technique in therapy at first, but Cullen had used it on the occasional bad day, too, and had passed it along again. It helped. It really did. As did that large hand over his heart.

“I love you,” Dorian told him, and looked up with a little more light in his eyes than had been there a moment ago. He could feel his heart rate slowing down a little, and he managed a small smile, “you always manage to know what to do to make me feel better, you know that?”

\----

Worried eyes watched as Dorian took those deep breaths, and he found himself breathing right along with him, his own heart slowing as he did. Maker, this had been winding him up a little too - how could it not? It was hard, seeing Dorian like that, and it made Cullen's chest heavy each and every time. But right now wasn't about _Cullen_. So he breathed, too, let those breaths give him strength so he could be strong, now that it was needed.

And it was, in its own way, good to be needed. Dorian had been there for him, just like this, many times before when Cullen felt like his world was falling apart. Maker, it was why this worked so well - they'd found the balance. They'd found a way to be each other's strength. It was equal. It was healthy. It was wonderful.

“Just returning the favor,” he said with a gentle smile and warm eyes as he stroked at the soft hair at Dorian's temple. “So I'm going to stay right here and hold you as long as you like, then you're going right to the couch with your blanket, and I'm making you hot chocolate. I won't hear a word against it. Because I love you, too… and you need some hot chocolate.”

\----

“I do need some hot chocolate,” he agreed with a soft chuckle and a nod. He felt _better_ talking to Cullen. He felt better saying the words and having someone there with him that would actually help him just because he loved him instead of as a way to make themselves look or feel better. He loved the way Cullen would dote on him, just enough without being too much, and how he’d always give Dorian the space he needed when he asked. It was all he could have ever hoped for. Dorian nuzzled his face in against Cullen’s hand, brushed his cheek into his palm, then moved in for another long hug.

Cullen smelled good. They didn’t always use the same soap, since Cullen seemed to favor the more clean and fresh to Dorian’s citrus and spice, but Dorian did love the scent of it. It was comforting, and he felt himself easing just a little. Things didn’t feel so... oddly close and far away when Cullen was there. He was like an anchor to the real world where Dorian’s panic tried to take him into that place where nothing seemed good or corporeal. Cullen kept him firmly planted when his mind wanted him to be in freefall.

After a long while he let the other man go and leaned up for a kiss, “You’re dripping all over me,” he teased, “I’ll let you get dressed. There was food half started in the kitchen, but I’m not terribly hungry anymore.”

\----

Cullen grinned and kissed the tip of Dorian's nose. “You won't melt,” he chuckled, “But go on. Get settled. I'll deal with the food.” Before Dorian left, though, Cullen reached a hand out to cup his cheek, “And it'll be ok… it will.”

And then Cullen was alone. He took a moment to himself, leaning over the counter and breathing, willing the shake in his resolve to just go away. He'd been tempted to take it back, to tell Dorian he shouldn't go. Maker knew, it would be easier not to. Easier to just say ‘ _well, fuck them_ ’ and go about their day to day. But no, that wouldn't solve anything. That wouldn't resolve anything. Dorian had immediately jumped to _‘I have to go_ ,’ which Cullen translated as what the man's heart wanted. What it needed, be it for resolution or a sense of duty or just so he wouldn't be burdened with _what if_ s later. Cullen would never deny Dorian anything he needed, even if it was going to be hard. And this… this was going to be _hard_.

So he took that quiet moment to sort himself out, pulled on those same sweat pants he'd appropriated from Dorian so long ago and a soft, white t shirt, and made his way to the living room with a smile on his face. Because he loved Dorian, he smiled. The man deserved _good_ in his life, and Cullen would give it to him to the very best of his abilities. He would honor the promise he made the day they became husbands, each and every day until the end.

He stopped on his way to the kitchen, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss his husband's cheek. “I'm less drippy now,” he teased, “Sit tight, I'll be back with that cocoa. Brandy in or no?”

\----

As Cullen had suggested, Dorian settled himself on the couch and pulled a burgundy fleece throw they’d bought together after that first Midwinter when they’d decided to cohabitate into his lap. It was one of the first small touches of their lives coming together, and many a night had been spent with them both curled up under it with some terrible late night movie or weekend television marathon on before them. It was comforting, and Dorian all but wrapped himself up in it so he could feel the soft material against his skin. It seemed to lessen the ache from the air around him, and he found himself smiling a little as he leaned back into the plush cushions.

His mind focused on the television, back to that renovation show, and that somehow made time go by in a blink. Then Cullen was kissing him, and Dorian’s smile broadened a little. Just those little moments, those small gestures from Cullen, still made his chest ache with love. That they still did them, still reached out for a hand when they sat together or wrapped arms around each other when one of them or the other was cooking (usually Cullen, but Dorian had managed to step his own cooking game up a little for all the practice), meant so much. He still fell in love with Cullen every day, more and more, and it helped to push away that still lingering panic in his mind.

Then that question. He’d almost answered _yes of course_ , but in this last year or so, he’d found that problems didn’t always need an alcoholic accompaniment. And neither did the problem solving process. “No,” he answered after a moment, and turned to kiss those full, scarred lips with his own, “but thank you.”

It didn’t take long for a cup of cocoa to appear in front of him, and even less time after that for Cullen to settle into his place at Dorian’s left. They shifted, Dorian snuggled up against Cullen’s side, and he sipped from his drink as he just... drifted. His mind was only half on whatever they were watching, and half in the past and possible future.

_“No son of mine is going to act like this! Whatever... perversions you seem to think you have, they’re not going to be tolerated here!”_

_“You will do as we tell you. There’s a plan in place, and you **will** follow it.”_

_“How could you treat us this way? All we ever wanted was for you to have the best!”_

Dorian buried his face in Cullen’s shoulder at those remembered words, and he gripped hard at the now empty mug in his hand. His other one snaked out from under the blanket to find one of Cullen’s, and Dorian squeezed it tight. He needed that anchor. He needed to feel the presence of skin on skin so that he might not trick himself into thinking Cullen’s comforting and supportive presence was some made up spectre of his anxiety.

On the arm of the couch, his phone buzzed twice and lit up. It made Dorian jolt out of his own thoughts a little, and he set down the mug so he could grab it. Felix. So soon. Dorian’s blood all but froze in his veins as he worked up the courage to tap the message to bring it up in full on the screen:

_[Message: Felix :) (Sent 1:15 PM)]: In critical condition but stable. Aquineas in fits. Should be in normal room by the end of tonight. Mother is staying with urs for a while. Templars bloody everywhere asking questions and taking statements._

“Fuck,” Dorian breathed, and rubbed his lips together before he looked over at Cullen and held out the phone, “it’s Felix.”

\----

So, silence then. But it wasn't the awkward _‘what should I say’_ kind of silence that had plagued Cullen in their first tumultuous year together. Back then… well, he'd hardly been in a place to help himself yet, so he'd driven himself crazy just thinking in silence. It was different now - silence was sometimes what was needed. Silence and touch. That solid, wordless support communicated in the squeeze of a hand or an arm wrapped around a body that was hurting was sometimes worth more than all the encouraging words in the world. As they sat on the couch where so many storms broke and were weathered, Cullen was happy to be that for Dorian. Happy to let him process at his own speed and just… be near. Happy to hold his hand so the man he loved so much knew he wasn't alone in this.

Soon, Cullen would get up and grab his laptop so travel plans could be sorted and tickets bought. Soon, he'd get up and call Garrett to let him know someone would need to fill in for him for a while. Soon, there'd be words and packing and nerves. For now, though, _this_ was where he was needed, so this was where he would stay.

When Dorian jumped at his phone’s buzzing, Cullen jumped a bit, too. He could almost see the anxiety spooling back up under grey eyes as he watched Dorian read the message he'd received. _News from Tevinter, it has to be,_ Cullen thought, and that thought was confirmed when Dorian held his phone out to him.

Amber eyes searched Dorian's face for a moment, noted the way he worked his lips in worry, and reached for the phone. His free hand wrapped around the one that had been holding the phone out, and Cullen let his thumb stroke soft lines over Dorian's knuckles as he read the message.

“Critical but stable,” he said and felt a weight he didn't realize he was carrying lift. Going there would be difficult enough. Going there _and_ attending a funeral? That would have tested the both of them. Cullen didn't really _do_ funerals… the last one he attended had destroyed him. Could he really have held it together now? For Dorian, he would have tried. For Dorian, he would _always_ try… but now that it seemed less likely, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved. It meant he'd have more… more energy, more strength, more of himself to give so Dorian could make it through. “That's… good, right? Means we won't be walking into a ‘wait and see’ sort of situation. Means we won't have to deal with… loss.”

\----

It was true. That was probably the best thing to hope for in a situation like this. The Maker only knew that there might be others who weren’t so lucky. But was it... luck? Would it be easier to walk in there and know that Halward would be awake and conscious? On some level, Dorian had almost hoped against it. His mother’s presence was difficult enough to deal with, but to have them both and all this stress on top of it? The thought made his skin prickle, and Dorian leaned a bit more into Cullen as he stared down at the message.

“That’s... well, it’s not a funeral,” Dorian agreed after a long moment, and bit at his lip before he tapped out another message -

_[Text: Felix :) (1:22PM)]: Thanks. Going to work on flights soon. Cullens coming with me._

Dorian set the phone down beside him again and turned to cuddle up against his husband’s side. He nuzzled his face in against Cullen’s shoulder, then sighed a bit. They would need to go. Soon. Immediately, if possible, and staying like this wasn’t going to get that done.

“We should get those tickets,” Dorian murmured softly, then turned to kiss Cullen’s shoulder. He stayed like that for a long time, then closed his eyes, “I love you, Cullen. I do. Are you... sure you want to walk into this with me? I’d love it if you would, but I don’t want you to have to see it all. It might be, uh... upsetting, for you, and I don’t want that.”

\----

And there it was, one of the many reasons Cullen loved the man curled into his side so damn much. Dorian was too kind by far, looking out for Cullen even as his own foundations were shaken. That he even had room to consider someone else right now… well, Cullen had known from the beginning that Dorian had a big heart - had to have, considering their past. This was just more proof of that, another thing to make Cullen love him just that much more. Every time Cullen thought, _This is it. My heart is full. I can't possibly love him more_ , Dorian went and proved him wrong. Cullen could. He always could.

But, kind as the gesture was, there was no way Cullen was going to entertain it. He lifted a finger and pressed it gently against Dorian's lips.

“Nope,” he said and a gentle smile was on his face and a teasing tone in his voice, “You're stuck with me, I'm afraid.” His finger dropped then as he leaned in to catch Dorian's lips in a soft kiss. “If you need me, I'll be there. You shouldn't… you shouldn't have to be alone for this. Plus… I did promise. It was right there in my vows - there's no path I won't walk with you.”

\----

Maker help him. Dorian warmed a bit for that, and managed a smile. His husband, the giant goofball that he could be with his kind eyes and promising to be there for him for the rest of their lives, was a saint of a man. “You’re too good to me,” he murmured, and kissed those lips again, “but... thank you.”

So... tickets. Tickets and phone calls. Cullen called Garrett, and Dorian had called Josephine. They had been more than accommodating, which had been good, and told to let them know how things were as they found out. Not that Dorian had any intention to explain his entire family situation, but anything they needed to know... He could part with that.

Before they’d left, on a last minute flight that evening, Dorian had asked Cullen to bring his guitar. Maybe in all of this, hearing Cullen sing would make him feel better. It was possibly a stupid thing, but it was what he wanted. Cullen had obliged, of course he had, and a few hours later, they were nestled into two first class seats (courtesy of Dorian’s miles and Cullen’s smart ticket buying) with hands wrapped together over the armrest. Dorian’s hands were shaking a little, and he squeezed Cullen’s tightly. That closeness was the only thing keeping him from freaking out.

It only got worse the closer they got, and by the time they landed Dorian had all but managed to work himself into a state. He was sweating, shaking, and stood as close to Cullen as he could. Dorian kept his gaze down to focus on the floor in front of him, and he wrapped a hand around one of Cullen’s as they got their bag and went to hire a car.

Maker, they were... there. Back. Actually, physically, in the _Imperium._

\----

Dorian's descent into that dark place of nerves and borderline terror was almost palpable. Cullen could feel it growing heavier with every mile they put between themselves and the home they'd made together over the past two years. It rolled off the man in waves, heating the air and filling it with an electric sort of buzzing, the kind that got into your head and hurt your teeth for the constant vibration. And if _Cullen_ could feel it… he knew Dorian was far worse. For the first time in a long while, Cullen felt a little of that old helplessness. He refused to give in and get lost in it, refused to panic and despair… but it was still there. On one level, he knew he was doing what Dorian needed him to do - to simply be there and let the man lean on him for a while - but on another level… it was just so damn hard to watch his other half shaking in his seat like that. It was so damn hard to _know_ there was nothing he could do to make this go away, that all he could do was just be present and be a source of silent strength for Dorian to tap when he needed.

And on another level… there was pride. There was a time, Cullen knew, that something like this would have reduced Dorian to an anxious mess, breaking down on the bathroom floor or shutting down completely as he numbed everything with wine and other distractions. But here he was, shaking and terrified and grasping at Cullen in a way that was more than a little heartbreaking, but still in his own two feet. He was still standing, moving forward to do what he felt was right and face this. Cullen knew intimately how hard it was to face those deep hurts and not run. Their situations weren't the same… but they kind of were. This, coming here, was just as big for Dorian as those words spoken long ago - _I need help_ \- were for Cullen.

For the first time, he felt like he understood a little what it must have been like for Dorian, to see Cullen shattering in front of him and not be able to make it better himself. Again, not the same - they were broken then where they were whole now - but it shed a new light on ancient history… and strengthened Cullen's resolve to just be there in whatever capacity Dorian needed right now. Anything for him. Anything for the man who’d broken himself a little to help Cullen pull his own broken pieces back together.

And so he stood up straight. He made himself that quiet pillar that Dorian needed, despite the way his own heart was hurting for his husband. He led the way to baggage claim and to the car rental window, allowing Dorian the space to digest all this but never, never letting that hand go.

At the window, the tired looking clerk found their reservation, under Pavus-Rutherford, and handed Cullen the keys after all the paperwork was signed. They made their way to the car, an unassuming sedan, and after Cullen had loaded their bags into the back, he turned to Dorian to collect the shaken man into his arms. His embrace was firm but gentle, and he tilted his head down so his lips were close to Dorian's ear. “You'll be ok. You're strong enough… brave enough for this,” he murmured, though his words were a bit thick with that feeling of pride. “It'll be alright. And even if it isn't… even if it all goes to shit, before you know it, we'll be home and safe and in our own bed and all this will be the past.” He paused for a beat and just let his hands run large, slow circles over Dorian's back as he breathed the man in, deeply, and their hearts beat together. “But I'm… I'm proud of you for coming here. No matter what happens, I'm so, so _proud_ of my brave, wonderful husband.”

\----

Even the smell of the air was the same. It was salt and sea and superiority and the undercurrent of magnolias somehow. That scent was always in his nose no matter the time of year, and the longer they were there the worse it became. That sickly sweet smell, like decay and right spaces, fogged his brain. Dorian hated it. It reminded him of way too much. It made him feel sixteen again and like his mind and his life were both spiraling out of control.

His mind was everywhere and nowhere, full and completely empty, and he hardly registered anything until Cullen pulled him close. Dorian snapped from his... well, it wasn't reverie and he wasn't actively thinking enough for it to be any train of thought. Something. Maybe a stupor.

One hand lifted and he rested it on Cullen's shoulder, “We should go,” he said. His voice was that same monotone as it had been before, and he leaned in to kiss Cullen's forehead, “the sooner we go, the sooner we can figure this out and go home.”

That was all he could think about. _Home. Home home home. Get home. Go where it's safe._

So he looked back up into Cullen's face, the whites of his eyes bright as the anxiety bubbled up from his stomach to his chest and to his mind, and took a shaking breath. A trip to the hospital wouldn't take long, depending on traffic, and he knew his time was limited. Once they got there, once they knew he was back, there would be no peace.

He got into the car, put his seatbelt on by rote, and stared down at his phone. He would need to text Felix that they made it and were on the way. He needed to. Dorian knew he needed to. It was just... he couldn't make himself press the buttons. All he could do was pull up the GPS and slowly tap in the name of the hospital to the search bar while Cullen got in on the other side. He felt bad that he couldn't emote more, but he couldn't get out from behind that wall that built itself around his heart and mind.

It was necessary. Cullen had to know that.

As they got going, Dorian stared down at his phone. Felix.  Felix should know. He should…

_[Text: Felix :) (8:23PM)]: Made it. Heading to hospital now. Meet us outside._

\----

Oh, but Cullen didn't like that hollow tone in Dorian's voice or the way his eyes were a bit too wide, too bright. Things hadn't been this bad in years, and that helplessness was crowding in just a little more. But what could he do, really? What was there to do but what he had been doing? He found himself focusing on his own words as he crawled into the driver’s side. This would pass. This would pass, and Dorian would see the other side and they'd be home again. And Cullen _really_ wanted them to be home again.

He let the little robotic voice of the GPS be his guide in that silent car ride to the hospital, because of course they were going there first. Thankfully, the car was an automatic, so he was free to place a hand on Dorian's thigh, since the man's hands were taken up with his phone. Cullen could practically see the way Dorian was building up his defenses, so he hoped that one point of contact made it through.

_You're not alone. Please don't get so lost in there that you think you are._

So caught up in his thoughts and worries for Dorian was he that he didn't even realize he was driving on the opposite side of the road as he was used to. He just went with the flow of traffic and obeyed the curt orders from the GPS mounted in the dash.

All too soon, he was pulling into the hospital entrance and handing the keys off to the attendant. All too soon, they were _there._

\----

That hand on his thigh was nice, actually. He hardly registered it, but the part of Dorian that was hidden away rejoiced. That warmth was a comfort. Cullen’s presence was even more of one. It was what Dorian needed more than anything.

When they stepped from the car, Dorian’s knees shook. The building was huge. It was imposing. It... Maker, it made his blood run like ice water. Dorian’s face was a mask, something nearly blank, but he wrapped a hand around Cullen's and knew his fingers and nails had to be digging in. He couldn't help it. This whole thing, this place, it did awful things to him. 

“Cullen,” he prompted softly, “I... can we wait just a second? Please? I need to breathe.”

\----

Even with the sun down, the heat was oppressive. Thick was the word that came to mind as Cullen joined Dorian after the car was handled. Thick and cloying, difficult to breathe just standing there, but stand there was what they were going to do. Just for a bit, while Cullen let Dorian grip his hand so hard it hurt, and Dorian found the steel he needed to just go in.

It was hard to breathe, there would soon be sweat rolling down Cullen’s back, not to mention imprints in his palm from rings and fingernails digging in, but he had no intention of moving from that spot until Dorian was good and ready to. It this was all he could do to help, then this was what he was going to do.

But that look on Dorian's face… it was so unlike the norm. Typically, he was expressive if he was anything. This… Cullen had seen shades of it before, on particularly bad days, but this was the first time he'd seen everything just go _blank_ , those scared eyes and small voice the only indication of what was going on below the surface. It was… Maker, it was scary. Maybe Cullen _had_ been wrong? Maybe this visit wasn't at all what should be done, and Dorian's gut reaction to go was just due to… pressure. Societal pressure, maybe. Feeling like he had to do this because it was what was expected of a child whose parents were in trouble… but Dorian's parents weren’t _parents_ , at least not by Cullen's standards… and maybe this was all a mistake. It was clearly tearing his husband up inside… they were in the one place Dorian had said himself that he never wanted to be again when by rights, they should be out to dinner or snuggled up on their couch.

_Maker's breath, was I wrong?_

“Of course, love,” Cullen soothed, though his voice had the slight edge of tremor to his ears. “Take all the time you need… and… and it's not too late… we can call the car back. Go to the hotel for some rest and try this again in the morning?”

_Or just decide to go home. It's not too late for that, either._

\----

He turned and rested his forehead against Cullen’s shoulder for a moment. Everything felt so... close. It was like spindly fingers creeping up his body to wrap around his neck so he couldn’t breathe anymore. It was something dark and heavy trying to blot out the light so he couldn’t see. It was...it made him lose himself. Dorian knew better than to come to this place with his full heart and personality on his sleeve. That was dangerous. It was how you got hurt. No... he couldn’t do that.

“Going to the hotel now won’t make this any easier in the morning,” Dorian replied with a soft sigh. He lifted his head, studied that handsome face, and turned so that he could lift a hand to cup Cullen’s jaw, “you have to... you can’t let them _see_ you. If they _see_ you, then they’ll know everything, and I don’t want them to be able to use something on you, alright?” It wasn’t explained very well, and he knew he should have prepped Cullen better on the trip there. There was so much he should have done more and better for his husband before he made him go there with him.

“Dorian?”

Felix. With a breath he ran his thumb along Cullen’s jaw and looked up into his face, “Just don’t answer _anything_ , okay? When we get up there. Superficial is fine, but don’t try to make them into something more. But they’re going to try, and you _can’t_.” As Felix came closer, Dorian sucked in a breath and turned to look at his brother. They both wore that same face, the one that was mostly blank, until they were close enough to talk and Felix let go of Allora’s hand to throw his arms around both Cullen and Dorian.

“Maker take us all,” he mumbled as he hugged them both, “I never wanted us to have to bloody be here.”

Dorian cast a glance up at Cullen for a moment before he turned back, “is there any change? How is... er, everyone, I suppose?”

Felix offered a slightly encouraging smile before he patted Cullen’s shoulder and nodded back toward the door, “Halward’s in a room and resting, they said he’ll be fine. Aquinea is... well…”

“Aquinea,” Dorian supplied, and Felix gestured with one hand before he half nodded.

“And Father and Mother are up there with them. Mother’s been here most of the day keeping yours calm. I’m sure there was a flask or two involved,” Felix finished, “but Halward’s fine. No... sustained damage or anything. Not really, anyway. They moved him to a regular room and said they’d keep an eye on him for another day before they sent him home.”

“All this just for him to be sent home in a day?” Dorian asked with one eyebrow cocked before he made a fist with one hand and pressed it against his forehead. He’d had a bit of a headache since all this started, and now that they were there it only seemed to get worse. “I feel like I can’t even be surprised.”

Felix rolled his eyes, “Yeah, well,” he sighed, and reached out for Allora’s hand as they stood in front of the doors. Both his face and Dorian’s wore more emotion than they had before: worry, anxiety, confusion, a somewhat sick sense of mild amusement, and fear. Dorian’s was still mostly fear. “Just... smile and nod,” Felix told them both, and gave a look to Cullen, “trust me. Blank smile, and don’t say anything that will prompt a question. You don’t want to have to answer them.”

“Why don’t we go back up first?” Allora prompted Felix, “give them a minute? Come up when you’re ready, you two. Everyone’s on the eighth floor, east wing. We’ll make sure to keep an eye out.”

\----

Maker, there was so much to process, just in that relatively short exchange - so much going on below the surface. But still… as Cullen silently watched the two men speaking, he saw life return to Dorian's face. Even if the expression was mixed and still scared, it was _there._ That was a relief, at least.

_Thank the Maker for Felix,_ Cullen thought with one breath and then _but you couldn't do that_ in another. It was… maybe it was selfish, maybe it was petty, maybe it was unrealistic, considering the fact that Cullen had known Dorian for four years while Felix had known him all his life. No, it was all those things, and Cullen swallowed back a bit of guilt at feeling that pang as his cheeks burned… but it was still there, married to that feeling of helplessness from before.

And the instructions, from both Dorian and Felix. Don't be seen. Don't answer anything. Don't engage. Just smile and nod. Before, he'd questioned whether or not _they_ should have come… now he was questioning whether or not _he_ should have imposed. Earlier today, it hadn't even been up for debate. Now? Now it seemed like he might be complicating things just by being there.

He was out of his depth. Out of his element. Everything about this place felt wrong to him, and they hadn't been there more than two hours.

He didn't know what to do.

As he watched Felix and Allora walk back through the doors, he took a shaky sort of breath before he turned back to Dorian, eyes not quite meeting his husband's for the thoughts that had been going through his mind. “What… what did you mean before, when you said don't be seen? Should I just… do you want me to just hang back? Stay in the lobby? Tell me what to do to make this easier.”

\----

Maker help him, he wasn’t doing a very good job with all this. It was too much to manage. Dorian could hardly keep himself together, and while he wanted Cullen to be there... he worried. He worried what Halward or Aquinea might do. The last thing he wanted was for them to hurt the man he loved most, to do something cruel for whatever reason, and possibly make Cullen second guess all this. He couldn’t risk that.

“I just…” he began and took a breath before he stepped back up into Cullen space and cupped both hands around the back of his neck so they were looking at each other, “everything you let _me_ see? All that: our history, yours, mine... they _can’t_ be allowed to see it. If they find a weakness then they might do something to try to hurt you, and I don’t want that.” Maybe it was over dramatic, but Dorian wanted to cover his bases. The last thing he needed was to have to deal with a crisis between them while they were here because his parents got their claws in.

He leaned up on his toes and pressed a soft kiss against Cullen’s lips, “I love you, okay?” Dorian murmured, “more than anyone and anything in the world, and I don’t want them to get to you. If you just smile and don’t engage, then they can’t. It’s just how it is.” One hand at the back of the other man’s neck moved to ruffle those big, soft curls, “I promised that I’d protect you, didn’t I?” he asked, “so that’s what I want to do. And, you know, if things are as okay as Felix said and Halward will be home in a day then we can just leave. I just don’t want them getting their hooks into you, is all.”

Hopefully this helped. Hopefully Cullen understood.

“I’m... a bit scared of what we’re going to find up there, and I don’t want this to scare you away.”

\----

Was that how everything worked in Tevinter? Did everyone always have to play their cards so close to their vests? Cullen thought back to how Dorian was when they first met, how he was at odds with himself. Cullen had been too troubled to see it at the time, had thought Dorian too far above him for scrutiny, but if he'd been at a better place at the time, he'd have seen it. The way Dorian was at once so kind and somehow aloof. The way he'd assumed Cullen was still seeing people. The way he didn't talk about it - what they were, what it meant, anything. Cullen had a hand in all that mess, too, of course - it had been a bit of the blind leading the blind - but it was there. The way Dorian's society had shaped him versus his nature. He'd been battling it the whole time. And Cullen hadn't even seen it, not until much, much later. Hindsight, as they say, but that didn't help how guilty Cullen felt in this moment.

_He's so scared, trying so hard... and you're wanting reassurance. Just stop._

In the end, all Dorian was asking for was some tact, after all. That phrase - _you can’t let them see you -_ was metaphorical. Sad that he'd have to keep who he was hidden, who he'd fought tooth and nail over the past two years to become. Sad that they'd have to hide who _they_ were together, but Dorian knew these people and Cullen didn't. Full stop.

“Well, I'll admit it might scare me away from _Tevinter_ , all this… hiding,” Cullen replied before smoothing a thumb across Dorian's cheek, letting his eyes go warm and a little smile curl his lips, “But nothing can scare me away from _you_. Honestly, part of me would like to see them try… but I'll take my cues from you. I'm here for you… however you need me.” With that, he tilted his head down to press their foreheads together, “Don't worry about me. I'll be fine… because you love me. And I love you. So much.”

\----

That made the little smile he wore grow just a bit. Cullen was so good, more understanding and supportive than Dorian felt like he deserved to have in a relationship, and with every look and every touch, Dorian fell more and more in love with him. Those words lifted him, put him above the walls that had come up the moment they'd gotten there, which he needed. Cullen gave him clarity. Cullen gave him the space to be the Dorian Pavus that he had been for these many years and needed to remember was still in there.

“Whatever happens here,” he started, “I love you more than anything. Just maybe keep telling me all that. It certainly won't hurt.” It would help. Dorian knew it would help. Cullen helped. He always helped.

Dorian tipped his chin up and kissed Cullen's lips. There. That was good. “If I seem distant, it’s not... it’s not you,” he went on softly, “don’t ever think it is, alright? It’s just easier to be that way sometimes. “ Explaining that was important. The most important. “But it’s nothing about you or us or anything. It’s them, and I don’t want them to try to take _us_ from me. Alright?”

\----

That smile, small and shaky but there and genuine, made Cullen's heart skip a bit. There was nothing, he was convinced, more beautiful in all of Thedas than when Dorian smiled - _really smiled_. He lived for it. In the end, he just wanted to see the man he loved _smiling._ And while this one was diminished, it was still genuine, still Dorian. Cullen suspected he may not see it for a while, of Dorian's words and that blank armor from before were any indication, so he took a few breaths to memorize the curve of his mouth and the light in his eyes. He watched Dorian's lips form words around that smile as it faded, and repeated the words in his head so he could retrieve them later. When it was harder. 

_Whatever happens here, I love you…_

_I don't want them to try and take us from me…_

As if they could. Maybe it was blasphemy, but Cullen doubted the Maker created a force strong enough to do that. After all they'd been through together… it was laughable.

Cullen leaned forward and kissed the tip of Dorian's nose as his eyes crinkled at the corners from the soft smile on his own lips. “Alright,” he agreed. “Then I love you, Dorian Pavus-Rutherford. I love you more than I can say and then some. And I'll tell you as much as you want… until the words mean nothing and you're sick of hearing them.” He paused and chuckled softly as his hands wrapped around the back of Dorian's neck. “They can do their worst… nothing can take _us_ from me or you.”

Of course, Cullen didn't know what was in store for him up on the eighth floor in the east wing, but he knew those words were true. True despite the little fluttering of fear in his heart. Fear was natural. Fear was good.

Right?

\----

Maker help them both. That said, Dorian had a feeling that Cullen was right. There wasn’t a force in the Golden City or Thedas that could break them apart. And they had something that neither Halward nor Aquinea had. They had that time before this, before their wedding and after, and this time he wouldn’t be going back as Dorian _Pavus_.

He’d be going back as Dorian Pavus- _Rutherford_ , and he would take strength from that. No one would ever take that from him. Ever.

Dorian let go of Cullen just long enough to unwind the other man’s hands from his neck so he could kiss the ring he’d put on Cullen’s third finger a year and a half ago. Both of his hands wrapped around that hand, and Dorian just pressed his lips against it for a long few moments. He wanted to remember the feel of large, warm hands and how happy he’d been to put that ring there and then kiss it again at the wedding. No one could take _that_ from him either.

So he looked back up at Cullen after a while and nodded toward the door,” Come on, amatus,” Dorian prompted. His face was less guarded than it had been, less blank, and he threaded their fingers together. They could do this. _He_ could do this. He knew it better than he knew himself.

When they made it to the right floor, the elevator door opened and Dorian could legitimately _feel_ the air around them change. He looked over at Cullen, squeezed his hand, and offered a small smile. _You’re not alone. You’re. Not. Alone._ He repeated the words to himself, over and over again, and stepped out onto the tile with confidence. That hadn’t happened in a long time. He’d faked it, of course, but this was _real_ confidence bolstered by the man beside him. It was going to be alright.

A nurse at the station pointed them down one hall, and as they neared the room given to one _Mag. Halward Pavus_ the very familiar sound of people talking hit his ears. They hadn’t even turned the corner and already Dorian could pick out who was speaking: Aquinea in her poison-sweet tones, Livia and Gereon in quieter words, and occasionally a raspy...fuck. A very raspy and medicated Halward. Dorian squeezed his husband’s hand again as they came to a stop just outside the room, and he took a deep breath.

“Just breathe,” Dorian murmured to himself, then cast a glance up at Cullen, “are you ready? To... do this?”

\----

There had been the thought earlier that maybe that blank stare would descend immediately when they'd finished their little farewell to normalcy and entered the hospital proper, but so far, it hadn't. Dorian was… well, obviously afraid, of course he was, but something had breathed a little more life into him… and maybe a little more courage, too. That was good, better than good, and helped Cullen walk tall, even though he was frightened, too. Not of what would happen to _them_. As far as he was concerned, that was a known quantity. He was afraid of what they might try to do to Dorian. He could only hope that the years and the brush with death would soften the monsters somewhat.

Because, while he said he'd smile and nod… he wasn't sure he could suffer anyone hurting his husband - be they mother, father, or whoever - and keep a civil tongue.

_Don't make this worse. You're here for him. So he won't be alone. For him._

When Dorian paused at the door, Cullen took a deep breath, too, heard Dorian's reminder to himself, and turned to meet those stormy eyes. There was so much going on there, so much history and pain that, despite the fact that Dorian seemed more together now than he had been in the car, Cullen had a vivid image of just gripping the hand he held tighter and running back down the hallway. Away from… _this._

But Dorian wasn’t running. He was facing it. He was brave, so Cullen would be there for him to lean on, even if it was just in spirit.

Cullen pulled their entwined hands up so he could gently kiss one of Dorian's knuckles through a smile that he hoped was encouraging before letting them fall again. “I'm ready when you are,” he answered softly so those inside wouldn't hear. “You'll be ok. You're stronger than they are. I know you are.”


	2. Dissonance [2 of 4]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen meets Dorian's parents and impressions are made.

Dorian smiled for that kiss and squeezed Cullen’s hand again. He was stronger now than he’d ever been. He weathered a lot of things, a lot of bad shit that got them both to this point, and he was stronger than his family had ever seen. They would hardly recognize him, he had a feeling, and that suited him.

So he turned them inside, though he didn’t step too far from the door. Halward’s was a private room, fucking of course it was, and Dorian couldn’t help but go still when he saw all of them standing there. It was like his life flashed before his eyes. He saw them all, at every party he’d ever been forced to go to, and again when he’d come back from _there_. They were all waiting for him and just... there. His blood family and the one that had essentially adopted him (other than Cullen’s of course) just... there. Like nothing had changed.

“Maker, finally,” Aquinea groused, as she became aware that someone else had entered the room, “my husband needs his…”

Her voice trailed off, and the others all turned and went just as quiet and still as Dorian had. His mother’s eyes, the same grey as his own, met his and they just stared at each other for a long moment. He heard her inhale, and he took in her face that was weathered with a few more years than the last time he’d seen her. She was still beautiful, as he suspected she always would be, but even from where he stood he could see that there were more frown lines around her eyes and forehead. In his mind, too, he suspected she was doing much the same thing.

“Dorian?”

It wasn’t Aquinea’s voice, but Halward’s. It was smaller than Dorian had heard in a long time, quieted from the medication and probably tubes down his throat while he’d been in whatever surgery had happened. That rocked him a little, and he felt himself shrink just a bit before he blinked twice and lifted his chin.

His mother stood, almost as though she were in a daze, and crossed the room to stand in front of him. She was dressed smartly, as he suspected she’d pointedly done to look like the put together wife in this time of crisis. Her skirt was long, brushed the floor as she walked, and when she came to a stop it fluttered a little at her feet. Up close, those lines were pronounced, and her face was the same mask that he’d come to know. They stared, kept staring, and after a long moment she lifted a hand to cup his cheek. Her hand was cold. It had always been cold, and he flinched away just a bit before her palm pressed against his jaw.

“Dorian,” she breathed, and at the nape of his neck Dorian could feel the bite of her lacquered nails. He’d picked the habit up from her, had stolen her nail polish as a teenager, and the memory of it made goosebumps pop up along his arms.

“Hello, Mother,” he replied softly.

\----

And so they stepped into that room of strangers. Other than Felix and Allora, these faces, all integral pieces of Dorian's past in their own way, were alien to Cullen. Except _that_ one. Maker, the resemblance was almost uncanny… the elegant woman rising from her chair could only be one person, could only be Dorian's mother. Aquinea Pavus. As she approached, her eyes, so like his husband's, were trained on Dorian and Dorian alone. The same. They were the same shape and shade, though hers were hard, glinting like cold metal where Dorian's had always seemed somehow softer. It was eerie, seeing those eyes set in another face, and for a moment, Cullen couldn't look away even if he tried. He was dimly aware of the man in the bed, Halward, and the older couple seated to his side, Gereon and Livia… but for now, his attention was turned to the approaching woman.

She was… Maker, she was so unlike his own mother. Lizzie was all smiles and winks and warmth where Aquinea was statuesque and cold in a way Cullen couldn't describe. She hadn't even spoken to them, but that was the feeling he got. Like maybe that poise and beauty was meant to hide the fangs and venom beneath. Like she was coiling to strike Dorian where he stood.

_Don't touch him_ , he thought even as she did, and to all eyes it was a gentle touch. But he wasn't to be _seen_ , so he remained still. Still even as he felt Dorian tense against the brush of her fingertips. Tense as he spoke. All Cullen could do for him was squeeze his hand.

_I'm still here. I love you. You can do this._

He hoped the message got through, but he wondered. Aquinea demanded attention - if she held Cullen's gaze in her odd, quiet power, what was she doing to Dorian just by standing there?

\----

“We were hoping you’d come,” she went on in that same soft, yet steely tone, and in a moment, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Dorian in a way that may have _looked_ affectionate, but it was more smothering than anything. One arm curled around his middle so her hand tangled in his shirt, and the other lifted to brush over the closely shorn hair at the back of his neck and into the longer waves on top, “your father and I... we prayed you’d come. The Maker’s answered us, finally.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, and instead turned to press just the quickest kiss to her cheek as one hand lifted to briefly touch his mother’s waist. Of course they prayed. They would have been at the Chantry hoping their son would come home and finally abandon these wild ways, Dorian knew that for sure, but not for this. Whatever these prayers were, it wasn’t about family in a time of need.

“Now let me look at my son,” Aquinea prompted as she stepped back and cradled Dorian’s face, “I see you’ve kept this... facial hair you decided to grow,” she commented, “my little boy’s gone now. A man with this mustache hiding his handsome face.”

“I’m past thirty, Mother, I haven’t been your ‘little boy’ in-”

“Hush now,” she interrupted, “you’ll _always_ be my _little boy_ no matter how old you get.” Grey eyes narrowed a bit and that _look_ that Dorian knew so well was on her face. It was one that said “you’re mine,” and it made his blood run a bit cold again. “And I won’t hear anything else on the matter,” Aquinea went on, “but... you’re well, and that’s all we can hope for. It’s all we’ve _ever_ hoped for.”

_Yeah. Right._

Her hands squeezed his cheeks just lightly, and she let one hand fall to gesture to the others, “Come see your father, now,” she instructed, “he’s still in pain, but seeing you should make him feel better. Maker, I just... I’m _so happy_ you’ve come home.” Aquinea tugged, tried to pull Dorian with her, but he didn’t move. That made her frown.

“Dorian, come see your father. You’re being rude and you’ve only been here a moment.”

“Aren’t you missing something, Mother?” Dorian half deadpanned, and cocked an eyebrow.

“What could I be forgetting, my love?” she asked, and raised her eyebrows in a way that was so much like he did that it was like looking into a mirror.

Dorian gestured beside him, to Cullen, and gave her a look, “there _is_ someone else in the room, you know.”

Grey eyes widened a bit, and his mother turned to look beside and just behind him. Like she’d only just noticed Cullen was standing beside him. Her eyes studied his face, then followed the line of his arm down to where their hands were entwined between them. Her expression changed, though only just, and something that may have either been exasperation or even _disgust_ touched her face.

“Dorian,” she breathed, “of all the times to do this-”

“Now who’s being rude?”

\----

The first time Cullen had called Dorian by something other than his name, the first time he'd called him _love_ , there'd been a look. An initial reaction in his face that said he _didn't like it_ , and Cullen's mouth had felt like it was full of sand, just dry and like he'd made a terrible mistake. That look had softened almost immediately into something more thoughtful and then into a smile so bright that the sand had disappeared and Cullen had flushed all the way down to his toes with the pleasure of having seen it, having _caused_ it.

But that first look… that had stayed with him. And now, as he listened to this… exchange, he thought he might understand it. _My love,_ she said. Her _little boy,_ she called him. They were pet names, like many mothers used - his own included - but never with this sort of… possessive hunger. Never with this sort of patronizing tone only thinly veiled in… was that supposed to be affection? It grated and set Cullen’s teeth on edge.

And then… oh, and then those eyes were on _him_ for the first time, and he wished they weren't. The way she looked at him, it was like the past four years hadn't happened. Suddenly, and with only a glance, he felt small and inconsequential. Wrong. _Unworthy_. It was the same way proper, civilized people had looked at him as he played for tips and struggled just to stay sober and _eat_ that day. It was the same way every pair of eyes judged him and found him wanting… until Dorian had looked at him. Until Dorian had somehow seen _more_.

That thought bolstered him, though he was shaken and maybe a little paler than usual for the blood that had drained from his face.

And then those eyes were off him and back on Dorian as her lip curled, but only _just_ , into a sneer. _Baring her fangs a bit_ , was the errant thought, followed by _she's dangerous._ In his lifetime, Cullen had known enough dangerous people to recognize it, coated by civility as this… display was.

He hoped he never had to be alone with her.

It was tense. The air was thick with it, or so Cullen felt, and some small part of it had to do with _him._ A little spike of panic set in. _They’re talking about me… or at least around me. I should do something. I should say something. Don't be a fool and just stand here._

“Ah, it's ok, Dorian,” Cullen said, mouth dry even as it pulled into a smile that he hoped looked more confident than he felt. He raised his right hand out to Aquinea in greeting. “Cullen Pavus-Rutherford, ma’am. Nice to meet you, though I wish the circumstances were better.”

_Shit._ He'd let his name tumble from his mouth by rote, just like it did each time he introduced himself to a new client at the studio. They hadn't discussed this - how or if they'd tell his family - and here Cullen was, just letting it out in the first five minutes. No delicacy. None of that _tact_ Dorian had requested. He just put it out there, like it wasn't the source of potential family scandal… like it was matter-of-fact.

And, damn it, it was. His jaw set a bit as he thought _fuck it_ and held his hand out in the air between himself and _her._

\----

In the beat after Cullen spoke, both Dorian’s and Aquinea’s faces matched in a quick microexpression of horror. Thankfully for different reasons, but in the moment Dorian knew that they would look uncannily similar. Cullen had put _their_ name out there. Immediately. Without thought, he assumed, and just like they often did when they were _home._ But this wasn’t home. This was somewhere dangerous with knives, both metaphorical and possibly literal, poised around every corner to cut out the bits that didn’t _fit_. And that name, _their_ name, didn’t fit.

Aquinea sniffed, expression gone and masked in that same cool indifference that had been there a moment ago. “I…” she began, and for a moment she was actually speechless. Dorian had never seen her that way, not in a long time, and there was some sick pleasure there as she regarded his husband for a long moment. “Charmed,” she recovered with a nod, “I’m happy that my son could bring a _friend_ with him in his time of need,” Aquinea went on, “though he has his family here. I had figured that would have been all he needed right now.”

“Mother,” Dorian warned softly, but Aquinea turned and took Dorian’s arm at the elbow to half drag him toward the others and Halward in the bed.

“We’ve been introduced, my love,” she snapped over her shoulder, “now come see your father. That _is_ the reason you’re here, remember?” Her fingers dug in a bit at Dorian’s skin, and just quietly he could hear her mumble “not to try my fucking patience with your nonsense.”

As he was dragged, Dorian turned his head to look at Cullen and nodded toward the bed for him to come with them. Maker help him, but he wasn’t going to stand in front of Halward (such as he was) by himself.

\----

Amber eyes moved from face to face, mirror images save for the difference of age and gender. Both faces all but cried out that what he'd just done was wrong. An accident, of course, careless and thoughtless - but no less in error. It was only for the briefest of moments, a heartbeat, and he'd expected it from Aquinea… but Dorian. Maybe he should have expected it there, too. He'd been _told_ hadn't he? Not to give them anything - to just stand mute, smiling and nodding like some brainless fool. He'd had every intention of doing that, but manners had kicked in. And he just hadn't realized that his own name would be so… vile.

And then… _friend._ Well, wasn't that grand?

Anger born from embarrassment edged into the fear he'd felt earlier as the hand that had been left dangling snapped back in place. A flush crept across his face, and he knew he must be turning red as that awful woman dug her claws into Dorian and dragged him away. He knew his face was clouded, though he tried to make it blank like they'd asked of him in the first place. It was a losing battle - he'd only ever managed _blank_ when he was _numb_ , and he'd vowed nothing would send him back to _that_ place again. Least of all these hateful fuckers. Least of all the woman hissing into Dorian's ear.

At least Dorian still wanted him at his side. Cullen didn't miss the nod for him to follow, and so he did, feet heavy as he moved across the floor to join them at the bed, though he stood a little behind and to the side of Dorian. If ever there was a place he wasn't welcome, it was this hospital room. And that was an odd feeling, considering Dorian was there. It had been a long, long time since Cullen felt out of place next to his husband. 

The man in the bed was connected to bags and machines with various tubes and IVs, but his eyes were alert. He must have been a sharp one to still look so awake with what had to be high doses of pain meds flowing through him. But his eyes were bright and, like Aquinea before him, trained only on his son.

“Dorian,” the man - Halward - rasped, though there was that same posh sort of accent present in his son’s voice. “My son. You've come. The Maker works in mysterious ways, that this,” and one hand gestured to himself weakly, “is what finally brought you. But that doesn't matter. You're _home_ now.”

Home? Cullen bristled visibly at that, clenching his jaw and his fists. _Calm down. Don't make it worse. Blank. Be blank._ And he took a few breaths to settle himself, but oh, he hated having to hide inside himself. It was far too much like before, even if the reason was different. Uneasy. Wrong. This whole thing was wrong.

\----

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” Dorian answered, and gently pulled his arm from Aquinea’s grip so that he could rest a hand briefly on Halward’s shoulder, “they’ve made you comfortable, I see.”

_Drugged out of his mind. Otherwise there’d be more yelling._

He looked down at Halward, who seemed so small in that bed and not the ten foot tall man Dorian had believed him to be when he was a child, and sighed. The man was fine, he knew that, but seeing his father like that made his heart hurt in a way he wasn’t really ready for. It was like his blood was too hot under his skin, and he took a step backward so that he could tangle his hand with Cullen’s again. Dorian needed that comfort, that support, and he squeezed gently at that Fereldan paw that he loved so much.

“They’ve tried,” Aquinea sighed as she reached out to comb a bit of hair from Halward’s forehead. He was greyer than Dorian remembered, though the healthy Pavus hairline seemed to still be well in tact. The man would probably die with a full head of hair, which was comforting on a superficial level for Dorian, and it gave him something to think about as he watched Aquinea’s maroon nails gently brush Halward’s scalp. “The Templars have been in and out since he woke up, asking their questions, it’s like they think he had enough time to see who did this. It’s insanity,” she went on, then looked up to Dorian, “to think someone could do this. And that your father would have seen anything.”

\----

“Stop fretting,” Halward said, gently enough, as he swatted rather ineffectually at Aquinea’s hand, “It’s their job, my dear - to find the villains who did this. Far be it from us to keep them from their work.”

For his part, Cullen stood back, squeezed Dorian’s hand and said nothing. He just listened. It’s all he could do, after all. After that stunt, and for how these people put him off, he'd resolved himself to it. The father seemed more… palatable, but it had been the both of them that had sent Dorian to that awful place, so Cullen remained on his guard. As they spoke, he focused on the hand holding his. That, at least, felt right.

But wasn't his sole purpose in being here to give Dorian strength? It surely wasn't to be swept away in his own mixed emotions regarding the man's parents, and it definitely wasn't to make this harder than it already was. So, while all he wanted to do was walk out of that room and hop on the next flight home with Dorian, he shuffled forward, just a bit, so he was closer to his husband, so Dorian could feel his presence. Assuming it helped.

Halward’s eyes raised then and settled on Cullen's face at that slight movement. Maker, it was almost like they were piercing him for how hard they were. “Son,” Halward started, and any warmth Cullen had thought was there had melted away. “Who is this… _person_ you've brought to my sick bed? I don't recognize him.” Even through the slight slurring from the pain meds, his voice had grown stern. Imposing. Hard. _Maker, I don't want to see him when he's not drugged._

\----

Dorian’s hand gripped Cullen’s tighter, and he licked his lips. He meant to speak, meant to answer with his head held high, but Aquinea scooted forward and took her husband’s hand, “A friend’s come with Dorian,” she answered quickly, before he could argue, “it seems concern about you’s reached further than just your son, dearest.”

“Actually,-”

“Dorian, not now, hm?” his mother hissed over her shoulder, “Your father’s been through enough. Maker knows we don’t need to make this any harder than it is already.”

He bristled for that, and just shook his head before he turned toward Felix and his family. The hand not holding Cullen’s gestured to them, and Dorian smiled a bit, “Cullen, this is Gereon and Livia. Felix’s parents,” he introduced them, and leaned in to kiss Livia’s cheek before he shook Gereon’s hand. They were smiling, though it wasn’t quite the open kind of smile that Dorian had come to know from Stanton and Lizzie. Still, there wasn’t much of that hard expression there. “This is Cullen, my-”

“We know, dear,” Livia answered with a small smile and reached out a hand to shake Cullen’s free one, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Cullen. Felix has told us nothing but good things.”

\----

At least this was… more normal. Not aggression veiled in saccharine tones or the motions of affection, anyway. So these were the people who'd taken Dorian in when he had nowhere else to go. Cullen was glad for them. Glad for Felix, too, and now that he had the briefest of glimpses into what Dorian's childhood must have been like, he felt a fresh wave of guilt at having been… not jealous, but disappointed that Felix had managed to bring Dorian out of that fugue earlier where Cullen hadn't. He'd lacked the necessary context to even begin.

Still, despite the fact that they were somewhat more friendly, no one seemed to want to address the druffalo in the room. _Husband. I'm his husband. And we're happy, Maker damn it._ He wanted to just say it and be done, but that wasn't his directive. It wasn't his place. So he nodded as he shook hands with Livia first and then Gereon, smiled as pleasantly as he could, and stuck by Dorian's side. “Nice to meet you, too. And I'm sure Felix exaggerates,” he replied lightly, casting a more genuine smile Felix’s way. They, at least, seemed to _know_ , though they were just as unwilling to acknowledge it as Aquinea had been… though perhaps for different reasons.

“A shame that my old friends seem to know more about my son than I do,” Halward quipped lightly, though his face was anything but light. “Indeed, to know so much of his _acquaintances_ whereas I am still in the dark. But this has always been the way, hasn't it?” The man in the bed sighed heavily and shook his head. “No matter. You're here now. That's what's important.”

\----

Dorian turned to look at his parents, and squeezed Cullen’s hand again, “Don’t strain yourself, Father,” he offered, “we’re only here to make sure you’re alright.”

“They’ll send him home tomorrow, the nurse said,” Aquinea explained, “I expect to see you…” then looked up at Cullen, “both, I suppose, first thing.”

One of Dorian’s eyebrows cocked, “Wouldn’t you prefer some time to... rest? It’s been a long day.”

“It’s been years since we’ve seen you, and we’re going to spend some time together as a family,” Aquinea stated. The words were like iron, like a cold blade that cut the room into silence, “then we’re going to see how long it’ll take your father to feel a bit better, and we’re going to plan something to show these... these _zealots_ that they have no control over us.”

Maker. A _party?_ His mother intended to throw a party. She always intended to throw a party, but to do so this quickly? His father would probably still be in a sling and showing off his resolve in the face of this adversity. Everyone would be there, Dorian knew, and it made him feel a bit sick that _this_ was how his family would try to make sense of this... well, whatever it was.

“I’m not sure we can stay long enough for one of your _dos_ , Mother,” Dorian began, but Aquinea was on her feet in a flash and grabbed for his face. He flinched, tried to turn away, but her fingers caught his chin so that he couldn’t and had to look at her. It was like every altercation they’d had when he was a child, and in that moment he felt very small.

“Dorian Pavus, you _will_ stay and you _will_ face this insanity with your _family_ ,” she told him, “it’s been years, and there are _people_ that need to know you’re home. All those connections you made and then just left... they’ll be there for your father, and how _dare_ you try to slip away when the man’s been _shot!_ ”

\----

He moved before he thought. Maker help him, he couldn’t stop it even if he'd tried, even if he'd wanted to. One moment, Cullen was standing passively next to Dorian, listening to more of his parents’ badgering and manipulative bullshit, and in the next, he'd moved forward to grab the hand that had dared to touch Dorian so cruelly, to pull it away and stop this madness. The only thought going through Cullen's mind at the time had been _DON'T_ and all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. For a moment, all was still and his eyes went wide, just for a breath, as he realized what he'd done. Another breath, and he willed himself to soften. _Fix this. Do it._ His grip loosened, and he let his other hand join with the first to wrap hers in both of his - gently, as if greeting an old friend. “Apologies, ma’am. It's been a long day… I'm sure you understand,” he smiled in a way that he hoped was apologetic. His voice was soft, though his stomach turned for what he was doing. “Of course we'll stay to celebrate your husband's recovery.”

That was the last fucking thing he wanted to do, but it was the only thing he could think of to attempt to defuse the situation. Maker save him, he hoped Dorian understood. He couldn't - _couldn't_ \- stand there and watch that woman hurt the man he loved.

\----

Then suddenly that hand was gone, and Dorian took a step back. He’d hardly realized what happened until he saw Cullen’s hand around Aquinea’s wrist. _Cullen_. Cullen had dared to do what he’d never had the strength to do, and he’d done it without a second thought. Cullen _protected_ him. Removed the threat, because it _was_ a threat.

The air was thick for a long moment as his mother practically scowled. She didn’t pull her hand away, though, and instead just looked down at where Cullen held hers in both of his with more than a little disdain. She twisted her wrist, moved her hand so his moved too, and Dorian _saw_ her take in that ring on Cullen’s left hand. That black band with one stripe of gold and another of brilliant golden sand that so reminded Dorian of Cullen’s hair. His wedding ring. _Their_ wedding ring.

“I’ll thank you not to come between my son and I,” she told him, then pulled her hand out of Cullen’s before she straightened, “but I’m glad to hear you’ll stay. There should be a celebration that our _family_ is whole again,” Aquinea went on before she turned to look back at Halward, “such as it is.”

Just then, a nurse turned the corner into the room. It was clear she felt the tension there, and stopped with her eyes lowered to the floor. “Forgive me, but visiting hours are over now,” she told them, “Magister Pavus will be discharged in the morning.”

Thank the Maker, really. Dorian sucked in a breath through his nose and licked his lips before he lifted a hand to run through his hair, “We’ll see you at home, then?” he asked quietly.

Aquinea, for her part, just glared at the nurse before she turned back to Dorian, “You’re staying with us, aren’t you?”

“No, Mother, we got a hotel room-”

“Maker help me, Dorian, you’re _home_ and you won’t even stay the night there after your father’s been-”

He frowned and lifted his chin then. A burst of confidence, one that came from that outpouring of love he felt when Cullen had pulled her hand away. Dorian wasn’t the same man he had been. He didn’t _have_ to be lured in by her guilt tripping nonsense. _They_ didn’t have to be. “Shot, I know,” Dorian finished with a wave of his hand, “but we booked the room and that’s where we’re staying. We’ll be there in the morning. You should go home and rest, not worry about us.”

Steely grey eyes narrowed, and Aquinea just studied her son for a long moment before she took a pointed breath as if to calm herself, and painted a smile on her face. It didn’t cover the annoyance though, or the anger, “Fine. Ten. We’ll have a late breakfast once your father is home. Tell him goodnight before you go... in case you intend to do a runner in the middle of the night.” Her expression turned, something dark and like acid in the same breath, “again.”

Dorian bristled, but he kept his chin up and cast a glance back at Cullen before he stepped up to rest a hand on Halward’s shoulder, “I’ll see you when you’re home, Father. Feel better.”

\---

_Slow it down. Slow down. Breathe._

_In_

_1 2 3 4 5_

_Out_

_6 7 8 9 10_

_Again._

And so Cullen stayed in control. He managed to slow his heart and mind down after he narrowly avoided pulling the thin line that kept things civil beyond the breaking point. He'd known this was going to be hard, had fully expected heartsickness to see Dorian wound up. He hadn't thought all this would affect _him_ so deeply. He'd never dreamt he'd have to physically step in to keep the man's _mother_ from hurting her son.

_Maker, is this what he grew up with?_ he wondered as they argued over who was staying where, and then, _what I wouldn't give for a cigarette right about now._

His heart practically fucking sang when Dorian insisted they _not_ stay with… those people. He didn't want to imagine what a fucking nightmare that would have been. The both of them, they needed time away to themselves to lick their wounds and shore up the armor they'd both discarded a long time ago. At least the next time, Cullen would be prepared. Somewhat.

They were the first to leave the room, and the walk back through the hospital was silent, though Cullen gripped Dorian's hand almost as tightly as Dorian had been holding his earlier. _Wasn't I supposed to be his strength? Ha._ He was ashamed he'd gotten so worked up… but he couldn't be ashamed of stopping Aquinea. _That_ he'd do again in a heartbeat.

The moment they were through the hospital doors and relatively alone in the stifling night air, Cullen turned and pulled his husband into him in a tight embrace. It was as much for Cullen as it was for Dorian - to reassert some semblance of _normal_ , to soothe jangling nerves, to just feel the man against him, and fuck anyone who saw. “I didn't know,” he breathed into dark waves of hair. “I'm so sorry I fucked up. I didn't know.”

\----

One hand lifted to rest at Cullen’s back once they were outside, and Dorian closed his eyes against the other man’s chest. It felt good to have Cullen there. He was bolstered by the man’s love, by his presence and the way Dorian could hear his heart pounding in his chest. Tonight he’d probably be the one curled up around Cullen, that or he’d demand that the other man wrap him up in his arms and not let go. All night. That’s all he could hope for.

“You didn’t fuck up,” Dorian told him gently, then lifted his face to he could be the one to kiss the tip of Cullen’s nose, “seeing her face look like that was Maker damned priceless and I wish I’d recorded it. I was just... shocked.” He lifted his other hand to ruffle those soft curls, and Dorian just smiled warmly up into his husband’s face, “You know I love you. And I’ll be damned if we don’t use _Pavus-Rutherford_ every chance we get from here on out.”

It was his little rebellion. It was their way to assert their own dominance and freedom from the people they’d just left. Dorian wasn’t _theirs_ anymore. He would never be again, he promised himself that, and he knew that Cullen would never let them get their hands on him. He’d practically snatched Aquinea’s away, and Dorian had never loved his husband more than he had in that moment.

He was protected. Loved.

“Thank you,” he breathed, “for... everything. You’re the best thing in this bloody country right now.”

\----

“I don't know about that,” Cullen sighed, “I'm pretty sure no one else in that room agrees with you. They probably think your _friend_ is a southern brute.” That little kiss on his nose was uncommonly sweet though, and from the soft look on Dorian's face, he could see the man was earnest. He was genuine - in his eyes, Cullen hadn’t done anything wrong - and that was enough to give Cullen some of his own confidence back. Dorian's assessment of what had happened was the only one that mattered, in any case. “I just… _wow_ ,” he breathed as he shook his head, eyes wide. “She had me so off balance that whole time… and Maker, you grew up with that.”

_He grew up with that as his mother._

A chill made its way down his spine as a vision of that woman treating a younger Dorian the same way she'd treated him tonight, claws and all, filled his mind. He'd known on some level that it had been _bad._ But now that he'd met her… he was starting to see _how_ bad it must have been. If Cullen had been thrown so off balance in such a short time, the young Dorian he pictured in his mind must have been… terrified. Heartbreak and anger, mixed with a fierce sense of pride that Dorian had managed to escape all of it somehow, hit him all over again as he pulled his husband in more tightly. “I couldn't watch her hurt you. I couldn't.”

\----

“You spoil me,” Dorian chuckled, but he kissed Cullen’s lips again, “but... thank you. There’s not many people who would, you know, _agree_. Most everyone sort of thought I was being dramatic.”

The one hand smoothed along Cullen’s back, and he hugged himself in tighter. Even in the heat, there was nothing better than his husband’s arms. Dorian could have curled up in them forever and let them heal all the hurts that he could feel bubbling under the surface of his skin. He’d worked so hard to keep them at bay, hidden so only flashes might come out when things were really bad, but they were simmering now. Threatening to come out. Cullen would never judge him for those, especially not now.

Now he _knew_ , and Maker love him for it. Maker protect him and keep his heart safe in this place that was so dangerous.

“Tell me you love me,” Dorian murmured, “I need to hear it.”

\----

An exhale, long and slow, escaped scarred lips as Cullen pulled away enough to look into the grey eyes that had always captivated him so. They were rimmed now with pain, though that abject fear from before seemed to be absent. That, at least, was something. They were still beautiful, hurting as he had to be, and that somehow made Cullen's heart clench a little more for him. He was so beautiful and clever and kind. Amazing, really, when Cullen thought about it… and he thought about it a lot, even now. And yet, he'd been abused by those who should have loved him. Hurt, belittled, betrayed by those who should have protected him.

But that meant his strength of heart, that inner kindness Cullen saw… it all came from _him_ , from a core those people could never touch, never corrupt. _Pure_ , Cullen thought, though he knew Dorian would laugh at the idea. But it resonated. It felt right. And that was why…

“I love you,” Cullen said with awe in his voice and a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. One hand moved to cradle Dorian's head in against his chest, and Cullen buried his face in those dark waves. “Always.”

He could say more, but there weren't any words. He could talk until he was blue in the face and he'd never be able to sufficiently describe _why_ or _how much_. So he let that one word - _always_ \- stand, and the rest he allowed his heartbeat to say for him.

\----

That heartbeat, the one he’d felt under his hands at the wedding and the one he felt whenever they were so close, meant the world to him. Dorian smiled, hugged his husband as tightly as he could for a long few moments, then sighed.

“Let’s get to the hotel,” he murmured, “we can order in dinner and relax in bed. I think some terrible television might ease a bit of all this.”

And he could just lie there and listen to Cullen’s heartbeat all night. Maker help him, but he wanted to pull Cullen’s clothes off and _feel_ him just to spite everything about today. Cullen was raw and real and _better_ and he’d enjoy their time together no matter who or what happened to them. Family or otherwise.

“We’ll need as much time as we can to prepare for tomorrow,” Dorian went on, “believe me. Breakfast isn’t just a meal... it’s fucking Round One.”

\----

“Ugh, I believe you,” Cullen answered and a look of disgust colored his features for just a moment. Round one. Tonight had apparently just been the prelims - sizing each other up for whatever battle of wills was about to happen. There was the cold touch of fear at that, the idea that it would likely get _worse_ , and Cullen entertained the idea of tucking tail and running.

But then he remembered Aquinea’s twisted expression and the words that hissed out between her lips as she dug her sharp nails into Dorian’s face and the way she completely dismissed Cullen as if he were rubbish. He remembered these things and, surprisingly, felt a surge of something stubborn and spiteful take over. They wouldn't have the pleasure of thinking him coward. He'd stand before them, next to his husband, and Maker damn it, they'd acknowledge him. They'd acknowledge _them._

He didn't delude himself into thinking there would be acceptance. The words, “but they're your _parents_ ” would never be uttered by him. They didn't deserve the title, didn't deserve the respect that came with it.

So, yes, he'd show up for this mess he'd gotten them into when he panicked and said they'd stay for a party of all things. Who threw a _party_ after having been shot? Apparently, the same people who could look at their son and only feel shame. The whole thing made him want to call up his own mom and dad, regardless of the hour, and telling them how much he loved them. How much the faith they never lost in him really meant.

Cullen spared one last gentle kiss before reluctantly untangling himself to call for the car. As they waited for the attendant to bring it around, they stood together, arm in arm, and Cullen thought of all the ways he wanted to make the rest of Dorian's life _good_. He couldn't give the man back all that had been taken from him, but he could fill the rest of his life with love. He had that power, at least.

And he would start, he suspected, with curling up in a nest of blankets on a hotel bed in Minrathous.

\----

So... four days. Four days was all it took for Aquinea to put together the soiree of the season to benefit both the Magisters that had been attacked as well as apparently celebrate the return of their prodigal son. Dorian didn’t correct her, not anymore, and just told both himself and Cullen to roll with it. They didn’t need to know that Dorian had every intention of running back home and never coming back. Let them think he was there, that he was trying to be amenable, since that was just... easier.

They’d seen Dorian’s parents in small bursts over the days, for meals and one rather awkward afternoon tea, but for the party? Aquinea had demanded that Dorian (and Cullen, by extension) get there in the afternoon to dress and get ready. Things had been in motion for days, though Halward wasn’t terrible mobile himself, and apparently any and everyone notable had cleared their schedules for this. Anyone who was anyone would be coming, apparently, including any and everyone Dorian had ever known. His head was spinning for all the names his mother had listed off, and when they’d left the afternoon before he’d curled into Cullen and actually let himself tear up and sob a bit for just how overwhelmed he felt.

He hadn’t slept last night. Had paced from the balcony to their bed in the hotel room and back until his legs and back hurt and Cullen had pulled him to lie down and work out the kinks he’d given himself. The man was a rock, Dorian’s rock, and helped to keep him stable. He’d taken everything Halward and Aquinea had thrown at them, which had been moderate indifference and at times subtle aggressiveness toward Dorian’s choices, and still managed to do what he could to help Dorian when they got away. He had to be feeling it, Dorian knew, and while he felt terrible that he couldn’t offer the strength to help Cullen through it all...he was working just to keep himself afloat. He’d promised when they got married to be Cullen’s strength too, but he couldn’t this time. Not now.

They stood in the hotel room, mostly dressed and trying to get up the courage to put on their game faces and go, but Dorian couldn’t quite get there. He was exhausted, mentally and emotionally and physically, for the effort that it took to be civil. Grey eyes were rimmed red with stress, bright with a mix of apprehension and anxiety, and he stood in front of the mirror in just a pair of jeans as he tore through his suitcase.

“Cullen?” Dorian asked over his shoulder, “have you seen my travel case? I can’t...  _fuck_ , I can’t find my anxiety pills.” The panic was starting to spike again. He’d had them yesterday, had taken them before they’d gone over, but he couldn’t _find_ them now. Where could he have put them in such a small space? His hands were shaking as he turned over three pairs of jeans for what had to be the sixth time, and he lifted one to press the heel of his hand to his forehead, “my head is pounding.”

\----

Maker, the past four days had been trying. Cullen had almost cracked more times than he cared to count, but each time, he thought of that night in the hospital room, the way Aquinea’s eyes flashed, cruel and hateful, as she lashed out at Dorian, and found enough steel in him to stand up next to his husband, to lend him his strength. But oh, it had been hard. Hard to see Dorian after those “family gatherings,” the way they _drained_ him so entirely that he barely had enough energy to strip down and fall into bed each night. Hard to be so utterly and completely dismissed at every turn, as if they weren't always linked at the hand. As if they didn't wear each others’ rings or share each others’ lives. It was just _hard_.

But there was this one last thing, one last intensely uncomfortable and acutely painful gathering until they could finally go _home._ Sweet Andraste, but Cullen was homesick, yearning for the place where they could finally be themselves, the place where Dorian could finally rest and heal. Far away from here, basically, and though tonight was going to be the biggest challenge yet, it _was_ the only one left.

And thank the Maker for that. Ever since yesterday evening, after Aquinea had listed off the guests that were to be in attendance with an infuriatingly smug sense of satisfaction, Cullen had had to watch his husband _really_ fall apart at the seams. Worry over Dorian had overshadowed any anxiety he himself felt over the party, though if he'd stopped to think about it, his eyes would have rolled in terror, too. As it was, he held his own fears in and let every hurt or criticism Aquinea and Halward flung Dorian's way - gilded, of course and hardly ever overt - hone his resolve to an ever sharpening point. It wasn't sustainable, he knew that, and if the light at the end of the tunnel weren't fast approaching, Cullen may have despaired. He knew he'd be calling Anders once he had time to breathe and process, but these past few days of punishment were well worth the exhaustion that was just around the corner.

But then Dorian broke down, clinging to Cullen and crying from the weight of it all. Dorian wasn’t typically the type, and every Maker-damned tear he shed from weariness and the overwhelming crush of the situation drove daggers into Cullen's heart. All he could do was fold the man up in his arms and let it run its course as he choked back his own tears to keep Dorian from seeing the cracks in his own facade of calm strength.

Stupid. He'd been stupid to use a promise like this to calm Aquinea that first night. He should have just let the harpy think he was assaulting her when he grabbed her hand. He should have stood his ground and told her where she could shove her party and her ‘ _my little boy’_ s and her fucking disgusting false affection. He should have taken Dorian and left that very night. But he hadn't. He'd played nice out of fear, and this was the price they both had to pay.

So he made sure he felt every shard as his heart broke for his husband, even as he maintained that calm exterior.

And now Dorian was walking the razor’s edge between holding it together and falling completely apart. Cullen had just gotten dressed after showering when he heard Dorian's voice, high and panicky, calling for him from the other room. His pills. He needed his pills. The little case that held them was in the bathroom with Cullen, right where Dorian had left them yesterday, next to the little glass he'd filled with water to swallow them down.

Cullen took a moment to steel himself, willing the unease he felt to settle back into the heavy stone that had sat inside his stomach for days at this point. Just a few breaths did the trick well enough, for now, and he filled the glass with water before carrying it and Dorian's pills out into the bedroom. He held the case and glass in one large hand and reached for Dorian's bare shoulder with the other, a gentle touch, just to let him know he was there. “Hey,” he started, voice low and soft. Soothing. “It's ok, love. They're right here,” he went on as he grabbed the glass with his free hand and held both things out for Dorian. “Sit down. Let me rub your shoulders for that headache... Please, we have time.” It wasn't a question - more of a demand. A gentle one, yes, but a demand nonetheless. Cullen didn't know if he was helping with the emotional pain, but he could at the very least help ease some of that physical pain.

\----

Seeing Cullen come out with that water and his pills was like a miracle. His head hurt so badly, it almost felt like his eyes were going to pop out, and he just... needed something for it. It hurt to breathe and think, but not focusing on doing those things made him spiral faster into somewhere he couldn’t afford to be right now. All that blackness on the edges of his vision called to him to just fall into it and let the feeling of panic and hopelessness take him. He wanted to. It would have been so easy to just let it happen, but he couldn’t. Not now. If he did that now it meant his parents won and he’d be leaving Cullen in this place with no one.

Dorian had to hold it together. Had to. There wasn’t another option, regardless of the fact that he was trembling like a leaf now.

He’d left the pills in the bathroom. Of course he had. He’d taken them in there. _Why_ couldn’t he remember that he had? Everything felt so locked up and tight that he could scarcely remember anything beyond trying to breathe. Everything else just bled together and ebbed and flowed like water. Picking out a single thing was like unraveling a thread, and if he plucked one of them then everything would come undone.

“Thanks,” he answered softly, thickly, and took the case and the glass so he could look down at them. Every beat of his heart made the headache pound, and even though he just wanted to curl up in bed with his head under a pillow, Dorian opened the case marked for today, tipped the pills into his palm, and took them quickly. That was step one. Step two was... he didn’t know, not until Cullen tried to guide him to sit down.

_Let me rub your shoulders_

The man’s voice didn’t quite cut through the lightning storm in his head, but Dorian did move with Cullen. He couldn’t help it. By now it was just easier to go where he was pointed, and when he felt his legs connect with the mattress he sat. One hand let the pill case drop to the bed, and he lifted one hand to rub at the back of his neck. It all hurt too much for now. Maybe when the medicine kicked in it wouldn’t be so bad, but for right now he rather felt like someone was squeezing his head in a vice.

\----

In the years they'd been together, for all the shit he'd put Dorian through, for all the shit _life_ had put Dorian through, Cullen had never seen him like this. He'd never been this closed off, shut down and _small_ somehow. Even last night, at least he'd shown emotion, but now… now he just silently let Cullen lead him to the bed, submissive and passive in a way that was infinitely sad and frightening all at once. And Cullen was afraid, though he wrestled with himself not to let it show. He was afraid that what he saw in those eyes was a mirror of how his own had been one morning not that long ago - the morning when everything had become too much and his injured mind just snapped. Maybe Dorian wasn't quite _there_ , but it was looming. Cullen could feel it all around them, hot and electric and eerie like the air before an oncoming storm. A bad storm. The kind that left trees twisted splinters in its wake and changed lives forever.

Dorian sat, obediently and without a word. Just seeing his husband like that… it was so unlike Dorian. The man was a tempest, full of fire and life. The man was brilliant, in mind and spirit. The man was solace, a shelter amidst turmoil and a healing balm to Cullen's soul. But now… all those things were still true, surely, but that fire was low and that brilliance diminished. Anger and sorrow in equal measure filled Cullen's chest. Anger at the people who had done this - the years of abuse at their hands that Dorian carried with him. Sorrow that that it should be like this at all.

But he choked all that back. Choked it back and smiled softly before he sat on the bed behind Dorian, legs on either side of his, and began to knead into muscles that were so tense, so full of knots, that it should have been humanly impossible. He started slowly, keeping the pressure light so as not to hurt Dorian further. Just so Dorian could get used to his touch. In silence, he continued, steadily increasing the force until his hands hurt from trying to work out the stubborn kinks in the muscles along the man's shoulders and up his neck. Like last night, Cullen couldn't work them all out, some of them were like steel under his fingers. But Maker, he could try.

A good long while passed just like that. Cullen kept going until his own hands cramped and he felt a warm wetness sliding down his face. Tears. Maker, when had he started this? Now wasn't the time. It wasn't the time, but he'd started without realizing and was having a hard time shutting it off. Dorian couldn't see, not right now, so he was relieved he sat behind him. It was a lot. It was too much, and he leaned forward, his chest pressed to Dorian's back as he wrapped his arms around his husband, buried his face into the man's neck, and just… held on.

“I love you,” he murmured thickly, “I love you. Whatever you're feeling, I hope you know that.”

\----

There was something calming in that touch. It made him relax a little, and it helped the part of him that was struggling to stay afloat come to the surface. It was like he was swimming in a lake covered in fog, treading water for an indefinite amount of time, and for a brief moment the sun was out and he could breathe again. Dorian sucked in a breath, winced for the feeling of Cullen’s thumb kneading out the knots in his muscles, and felt some of the headache melt away.

Bless Cullen and he sweetness. His caring. His love. Bless Cullen and his gentle hands that were so strong when they needed to be. Those hands had left bruises on his skin in the best way, and now they were seeking out all the hurt and stress to try to make it go away.

He relaxed, sank in against Cullen’s chest and leaned back so he could feel the man breathe. Cullen’s breaths were thick, though, heavy, and Dorian turned to nuzzle his face in against those blond waves that he loved so much. They smelled of the hotel’s shampoo, but it was somehow still familiar. That helped. One hand lifted to wind around Cullen’s shoulder, and he sighed as a bit more of that stress left him. The anxiety was still there and still calling, but the headache was easing a bit with his husband pressed in so close.

“I know,” Dorian answered just as thickly, and he pressed a kiss against Cullen’s temple, “I love you too.” He took in another breath and wound his fingers in Cullen’s hair, “thank you. This helps more than you know.”

\----

“We could just… go,” Cullen replied, face still buried so Dorian couldn't see if he turned. Not yet. Not until he'd pulled himself together more. The life coming back into his husband helped - the hand on his shoulder, the kiss at his temple. It helped Cullen find his strength again, though that moment of heartbreak still hung over him. It made him question… everything. Yes, he'd been the one to say they were going, but this? This was ridiculous. It hurt Dorian, everything about it. Every minute they were there had taken its toll. And so… why not? Why not leave? It wasn't as if this visit was to _repair_ anything, if there was anything left to repair. It had been to make sure Halward was ok. And he was. The man glowered at them, scowled at their entwined hands, reprimanded Dorian at every turn for not following the plan he'd laid out for his son. He was, as far as Cullen could tell, fine.

So why stay?

“They can't hurt you back home… and if there's nothing keeping you here... why not just leave? Tonight. Now.”

\----

He leaned back a bit more into Cullen and sighed. The hurt coming off the other man was like waves of heat almost, and Dorian nuzzled his face into soft hair as they just held each other. It would have been so nice to just go home, to sneak away from all this where nothing could hurt them, but Dorian couldn’t just _go_. Not like before. Not again.

“I have to see this through,” he answered, and turned a bit to gather Cullen into his arms so his husband’s face was tucked into his neck, “running away won’t do anything. Staying likely won’t either, but I won’t be a coward about it.”

Dorian rubbed his hands over Cullen’s back, kissed his hair, and sighed. This wasn’t what he’d wanted for them, not now. They deserved so much better than this. That was obvious. Regardless, there was still some sense of familial duty there. That, Dorian suspected, would never go away. He’d run from it to keep it from hurting him, but now that it was in his face he couldn’t just _go_. Not yet.

He held Cullen for a long time, let his mind wander, and closed his eyes. There were too many memories pressing in on him: Halward’s resigned yet slightly proud face as Dorian had graduated from school, Aquinea’s smile and the smell of her hair when she’d gathered him into her arms when he was little, the looks of disgust when he’d tried to come out to them, the stalwart glares when they’d told him they’d booked his place _there_ , the list went on and on. There were so many things, things he wanted to forget and yet still always remember so he could use them to be better, and they made his head hurt. But there were also other memories: Cullen’s face when he’d held out that cup of coffee the first time, their first kiss on Dorian’s couch, the look of bliss on the man’s face when Dorian had said the words _I love you_ the first time amid so many bad things, saying goodbye when he’d left for treatment, playing the guitar on the platform after he’d come back, their wedding. All of it. They warred for dominance in Dorian’s mind. Good and bad, they were different sides to the coin of his life.

“I love you,” Dorian murmured again, and took Cullen’s left hand to kiss his wedding ring, “Cullen Stanton Pavus-Rutherford.  Always.” A thought struck him, then, and Dorian nuzzled at Cullen’s temple, “Can I borrow your laptop, love?” he asked, “while you finish getting dressed?”

\----

It was nice to be held like that - it made the world seem a little more right anyway. Not quite normal, but better than it had been before. Cullen didn't know if that was because of him or the medicine, but either way, he was relieved. The fear he'd felt moments ago receded back to the corners of his mind as he let his hands move slowly over soft, warm skin. He still felt those knots when his fingers wandered up to Dorian's shoulders, but there were fewer of them now. That, at least, had been Cullen's doing. That was enough. _This_ was enough. Enough to settle his mind again, to push that unease back as he pressed fluttery kisses wherever his lips brushed Dorian's neck.

For his part, Dorian seemed resolute in completing this task, even though it was so distressing it caused him physical pain. Part of Cullen, a large part, longed for home, but if this was Dorian's choice… if this was his chosen path, Cullen would walk it with him, ready to catch him if he stumbled. Ready to carry him, if that was what was needed to see him through. Just a little longer. He could be strong just a little longer for the man who gave him the strength once to heal himself. Just a little longer for the man who'd carried him when he himself had fallen.

He was pulled away from those thoughts when Dorian next spoke, and he sat up as amber eyes blinked in surprise. His _laptop_? The shift was a little abrupt, but he should have expected it. This had, after all, become Dorian's way when he was upset - to let the emotion take him for a while and then suddenly redirect that energy into something productive. Where once he may have turned to wine or other things for distraction, he now turned to pet projects or work. They hadn't spoken explicitly about it, but Cullen had noticed. He'd noticed, and it had warmed him through.

Smiling, he gestured to the side table where he'd left his laptop last night. “Of course - you don't have to ask, you know.” Loathe as he was to untangle himself from his husband and leave him alone out here, if Dorian wanted to go, he'd want to be on time. Cullen sighed and offered Dorian a little lopsided smile. “I guess this means I have to do something with my hair. I… ah… it might take a minute,” he chuckled softly. There wasn't much he could do with it, but he was determined to try and tame some of those flyaway frizzies. Whatever happened tonight, he'd at least be presentable.

Not that it would matter to their gracious hosts - Cullen was convinced he'd never be better than the dirt on the bottoms of their shoes to them. But he wanted to, anyway. For Dorian.

\----

Oh, that smile. Everything he had gone through up til now and everything they would go through tonight was worth it because he got to see that smile. One hand lifted to cup Cullen’s face, and Dorian leaned in to kiss him gently. “It is a bit fluffy today,” he teased warmly, “all the humidity, must be.” But it was rather cute, Dorian had to admit. It would be frustrating to not know how to care for it in the heat, but to see it so big and curly was a sight. “There’s some of my pomade in the bathroom,” he offered, “that should help a bit.”

A glance to the laptop, though, and Dorian chuckled, “I just need to do something quickly then I can come in and help you. If you want?” He should probably finish getting dressed too. Aquinea had told them to come early, had told Dorian with some disdain that she’d figured they hadn’t brought anything acceptable for one of her parties, and Dorian had bit the inside of his cheek almost to bleeding for it. Something about that set his teeth on edge, but surely hearing that his father had been _shot_ wouldn’t have given them impetus to bring fancy dress clothes.

Slowly he let that hand rake through Cullen’s curls and Dorian kissed his husband’s forehead, “Five minutes, I promise.”

\----

“If you _must_ ,” Cullen answered, rolling his eyes for effect before he untangled himself from Dorian's arms, letting his fingers trail over bronze skin as he did. With another smile, he rose from the bed and looked down at his husband's beautiful face. “I'd say ‘good luck,’ but I know you won't need it.” He leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Dorian's head and made his way into the bathroom.

Five minutes to himself… and he needed it. It seemed Dorian had backed away from whatever edge he'd been close to, though Cullen still saw it, the panic and exhaustion, around the edges of those lovely grey eyes. Still, he was more himself, and that was decidedly good. Cullen, however was still shaken. But he couldn't be, not tonight, so instead of trying to mess with Dorian's hair stuff himself, he just sat on the closed toilet and breathed. And let his mind wander.

He'd groused playfully about it, but in reality, having Dorian mess with his hair was one of his favorite things, had been ever since the first time Dorian sat him down to try and tame that mess. Come to think of it, that had been before a party, too. Another event that had had Cullen jangly with nervous energy. And how well had that one gone?

Well, that had been another time. He'd been another man, broken and wholly unprepared. This time, things would be different. Cullen promised himself that he'd never leave Dorian's side, that Dorian would never be alone amongst the people who belonged to all those names. Would never be alone with _them_.

But he needed his strength to do that, so he took that time to just sit and breathe and calm his heart.

\----

Once Cullen had walked off, Dorian leaned over to grab the laptop. He’d already had something planned, save the details of days, but had sort of wanted to surprise Cullen with something nice. They’d had the means to do so, and with their schedules ‘time off’ seemed to be at a premium. Now they had it, granted by all and sundry to take as much time as necessary, and Dorian intended to do so.

It took only a couple of minutes to do what he wanted, book what he wanted book and quickly change some things around, and then Dorian got to his feet. He could have pulled on a shirt, could have finished getting dressed, but instead he just padded to the bathroom. In all this, getting his fingers in Cullen’s hair was about as good a it was going to get. That would fix a lot of things, Dorian was convinced.

When he poked his head back in, Dorian offered a small smile and took the few steps over to kiss the top of Cullen’s head, “Look at you,” he murmured, “tell me what you’re thinking while I do this?” Gently, he nudged Cullen toward the mirror, “it’s been a while since I’ve done your hair, hm?”

\----

“What I'm thinking?” Cullen asked with a raised eyebrow as he swiveled in place to face the mirror at Dorian's prompting. “So many things…” he answered and pressed his lips together for a moment as he looked thoughtfully up at his husband's face in the mirror. It was and wasn't like the first time this had happened, and it felt a bit like time had folded in on itself. Disorienting. And wrong. So many things had changed since then, but that dizzy feeling like looking down from a great height - like looking down the mountain they'd climbed together to where they'd started - lingered. A quick shake of his head and a little sigh helped clear away some of that feeling of vertigo. “But right now, I'm thinking that this place…” he went on before pausing, unsure of how to say what he was feeling or even if he should be feeling it, “... it makes the past feel _close_. For… for both of us. I just… I'm thankful for what we have. For _you._ ” A breath passed, and he actually chuckled. “And also that I can't wait to get away from here.”

\----

One hand picked up a comb to start working at Cullen's curls. The more he tried to take them the more fluffy they became, and it Just made him smile. He got his fingers in as well, rubbed and scratched at his husband’s scalp, then let his fingers move lower so he could run at the back of Cullen's neck. He knew that feeling of closeness too well. Dorian had lived with it every day of his childhood. It still lived in him, made him want to drink, and he understood.

Dorian reached for the little tin of pomade and sighed, “I still thank the Maker for you every time I open my eyes in the morning,” he murmured as he started to comb the pomade through. Immediately Cullen's hair began to behave and look more luxurious than fluffy, and Dorian smiled as the scent of lemon filled the room. Little moments like this were so previous. “It might make me sound like an arsehole to say, but I'm glad you get to see it. You're the only one who’s ever _known._ I've...never had that before.”

It took a while to get Cullen's hair under control, but when it was done and swept back he looked amazing. Perfection. Cullen was perfection, always, and when they were dressed and ready Dorian couldn't help but lean into him. He was so strong and so good. Dorian had no doubts about that. Weirdly, he was excited. He was excited to go and show off his _husband._ They didn't deserve to stand in the light Cullen gave off, but they would.

And they’d fucking like it.

So after a drive and handing off the car keys to a butler, Dorian stood with his hand wrapped in Cullen's. He turned and tried to smile, “I’ve got a surprise for you,” he told him softly, “when we get done here. If that helps.”

\----

On the drive over, Cullen concentrated on two things - steeling himself against what was sure to be a wonderfully dreadful evening and the pushy, slightly smug robotic voice of the GPS. The house was in the heart of the city, an upper crust neighborhood of large townhouses with lots of immaculate greenspace, obviously designed and manicured, which made it an oasis in the middle of all that commerce and government. It was the kind of neighborhood everyone else passed by and thought _must be nice_ with a roll of their eyes as they went on with their less glamorous lives.

In short, it was a neighborhood the likes of which Cullen had never thought to set foot in. It was a different world, completely, and he marvelled for the millionth time since meeting Dorian that they'd even found each other. The paths that brought them together were winding and precarious - one missed step in any direction, and they wouldn't be here. And so, despite the fact that he was a veritable fish out of water here, despite the fact that the night looming large over them was sure to be a test, he found himself smiling as Dorian spoke. The past was close here, yes, but their past hadn't been all bad. Since rehab, it'd been fucking wonderful. Not easy, but wonderful nonetheless. Even _before_ , when they were both lost and stumbling around each other, there'd been staccato beats of true happiness punctuating the bad times.

That's what he'd hold onto tonight to keep him grounded and strong - once, things had been worse than this, yet they still found happiness. One party wouldn't take that away from them.

And even here, Dorian managed to smile a bit and bring warmth to Cullen's life. _A surprise_ , he'd said. Really, with everything going on, he should have been focusing on _himself_ \- Cullen would have understood - but he still thought of _them_. The man was amazing, a bright spot wherever he went. These people didn't deserve him.

“I imagine that's why you needed my laptop, huh?” he said with a low laugh as he reached for one of Dorian's hands to squeeze it. “Might keep me from running in terror, knowing there's a surprise later.” There was a note of a humor in there… but the sentiment was genuine enough. He sighed and gave Dorian's hand another squeeze before continuing a little more seriously, “You never cease to amaze me, you know. I can't wait.”


	3. Dissonance [3 of 4]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Pavus-Rutherfords attend a party and tensions boil over.

Standing there, in front of the door, Dorian could all but feel the air seeping out from inside. In there it would be oppressive and heavy. Where they were was still hot, but nothing at all like what was coming. Any little moment they could beg, borrow, or steal was so important. So to hear that note of humor was so, so important.

“Only the best for us,” Dorian told him, and knocked a few times on the door before he turned to kiss Cullen’s cheek, “and for you. After doing all this for me, I want to do something good.” He leaned in, nuzzled his face against Cullen’s jaw, and smiled a bit.

The door opened then, a maid dressed in her proper uniform standing in the foyer, and she nodded a bit, “Master Pavus,” she greeted, then smiled a bit shyly at how the two were pressed together, “er… Master _s_ Pavus- _Rutherford_ ,” she amended, “Magister Pavus and Lady Aquinea are on the back porch.” That little smile and the amendment of his name made Dorian’s smile grow, and he nodded. “They said for you both to join them there. Can I bring either of you something to drink?”

Dorian looked up at Cullen, then back to the maid, “Lemonade, maybe? If there is any?”

“Of course,” she agreed, and let them in, “I’ll bring it to you.”

That made Dorian squeeze Cullen’s hand, and he led Cullen through the house and toward the back porch. Once the maid was out of earshot, Dorian stopped them, and he smiled, “Good to know _someone_ in this house is on our side, hm?” he asked, then rested his hands on Cullen’s shoulders, “We can do this.” Except the slight shake in his voice might have betrayed his confidence a little. Dorian was trying to keep it up, both for Cullen’s sake and his own, but now that they’d stepped inside, his resolve was crumbling.

He nodded back toward the sliding door that would take them outside, then took a breath. Alright. Go. Just go. If they went, the sooner this would begin and then end. So he led Cullen out, and pulled open the door to where Halward and Aquinea sat at a glass table with drinks and a small plate of sandwiches and fruit. As Cullen and Dorian came outside, both of them stood (though Halward was still a bit shaky with his arm still in a sling) and came over.

“Only a bit late, I see,” Aquinea greeted them, and reached out for Dorian’s hands. He, however, didn’t take either of hers and opted instead to keep hold of Cullen’s so he could just kiss her cheek.

“Are we?” Dorian asked before he looked down at his watch. They weren’t. They were fifteen minutes earlier than they’d said they’d be there, but fighting that wasn’t worth it. “I thought it wasn’t starting until later tonight, anyway,” he went on, then offered Halward a small smile, “how are you feeling today? Any better?”

Aquinea’s jaw tensed, the same way Dorian’s did when he was faced with a rude client, though she didn’t say anything, “You can’t expect to see everyone dressed like _that_ ,” she pointed out, then cast a glance to Cullen in his jeans and shirt with only a slightly softened sneer, “there’s clothes for you both. I expect you two to at least _try_ to be presentable. Maker only knows what so long in Ferelden’s done to your sense of dress... if what you’ve been wearing’s been any indication.”

\----

While he wished he could be shocked at how rude the greeting was - they were supposedly late and apparently dressed in rags, and the two of them had barely been there for two minutes - he really couldn't be surprised. It was par for the course at this point. Dorian could never do anything up to her standards and Cullen was so far beneath them that he was barely acknowledged. It was enough to start tipping the unease and nerves he'd been feeling the past few days over into actual anger. Not the vague sense of anger he'd had towards the parents before he'd met them. That, while still strong, hadn't had any real focus. This did.

Cullen was tired of them treating Dorian like he was a broken toy. He was starting to get tired of them treating _him_ like trash. It was a wonder his presence was allowed at all, though Cullen suspected there was some purpose to that.

And even though he'd been mostly successful in the past few days with the smiling and the nodding, he found himself ceasing to care what they saw on his face. Jaws clenched and eyes narrowed, he tilted his head to the side and sighed. This was tedious. Beyond tedious - not to mention childish. Getting sniped at for what they were wearing, for fuck’s sake… being _dressed_ by her. What were they, five-year-olds now?

But protesting would get them nothing, except for maybe a worse time of it tonight, so he opted to purse his lips and glower in silence.

“I've seen better days,” Halward answered in a voice that was far stronger than it had been that night in the hospital. “But we're showing them tonight that they can't win. A Pavus doesn't abandon his duty, even in the face of such base aggression.” Oh, and then he shot a look Dorian's way that was hard for Cullen to read, but managed to be severe and heavy and resigned all at the same time.

\----

“I would expect nothing else, Father,” Dorian told him. And he didn’t expect anything less than that. If there was anything in the Pavus lineage, there was pride. For sure. Dorian had it in spades, both from Halward and Aquinea, and while he _hated_ the reasoning for it there was a part of him that could appreciate his father’s resolve. It took a very strong man, or very _proud_ man, to attend a party not a week after being shot.

Dorian gestured to the table for them to sit, and he looked over his shoulder at Cullen with a small smile. Even in these moments he did like to sneak in those little and private kinds of things. Not that he liked having his fashion sense insulted, but even he could smile in the face of it. At least the only flannel that lived in the house was Cullen’s, though Dorian did steal it on occasion.

As they sat, he reached for Cullen’s hand again and regarded his mother, “I can only imagine what you’ve picked out,” he offered, “I’m seeing jewel tones.”

Aquinea sighed as she sat, and shook her head, “It’s hardly my fault we look best in them,” she answered. Her gaze drifted toward Cullen for a moment then, “I thought you might like a dark red, Cullen,” she commented, “it would bring out your eyes. Red and black, perhaps?”

“How very Tevinter, Mother,” he joked as he squeezed Cullen’s hand, “trying to play Hide The Fereldan?”

She narrowed her eyes then, “I’m only trying to make you both look your best, _my love_ , and that includes your _Fereldan_.”

\----

One dark blond eyebrow arched for that. She'd used his actual name - it was the first time he was anything other than _‘your friend’_ or _‘you’_. Cullen wouldn't pretend it meant progress, especially when coupled with _‘your Fereldan,’_ but it was interesting. There was no trusting this woman, no trusting either of them. If anything, it made him more wary of her; it made him wonder what she was up to, to even allow his presence tonight.

“That'll be fine, ma’am,” he answered as he sat back in his chair, trying to seem far more at ease than he was. It wasn't fine. None of this was fine. Dismissed at every turn and now treated like a child, dressed up to fit an image for reasons he couldn't begin to understand. “Though no matter what I wear, it's pretty obvious I'm not from around here.” He chuckled then, still trying to appear more confident than he felt, and looked over at Dorian. Cullen was smiling, but he didn't feel it. What he felt was a stubborn, petulant sort of anger, and that was dangerous. “And, if memory serves, you like me in red and black yourself… I was surprised when it was white for the wedding.”

He regretted it the moment it came out of his mouth. It was petty, he knew it. He was poking the monster with a stick just to get a reaction… which would likely make things worse for Dorian later. Or now, depending on whether they chose to even acknowledge his meaning.

\----

There was the part of him that wanted to kick Cullen under the table for that. It was an initial reaction, one born out of the need to hide, but... no. Hiding was easier, Dorian knew that, but if they were talking about strength in adversity here, then there was no way he was backing down. Not now, not ever, and _not_ about his marriage. So, Dorian just looked over at Cullen fondly. It was genuine since the thought of their wedding always made him happy, and he couldn’t hide that on his face.

“Black would have been too hot,” he pointed out, “we would have had to throw you in the pool.”

Aquinea cleared her throat then, and Dorian could read the expression of ‘we are NOT talking about this’ clearly on her features, “there will be no pushing anyone into anything tonight, Dorian. And if it happens, I’ll know who to blame.” She shot him a look then, eyes narrowed as she picked up her glass of tea, “Do you hear me? None of your shenanigans. Tonight is entirely too important for me to have to play chaperone.”

He bristled, “I suppose getting a nanny on such short notice for your adult son would be too hard?”

“Dorian Pavus!” Aquinea hissed, “how dare you! I’m including you in this very important function, and you speak to me like that? You should be ashamed.”

Grey eyes set hard, and both Dorian and Aquinea just glared at each other for a long moment before he took a breath, “it was only a joke, Mother.”

“I’m in no mood for your humor. There’s so much to do, and you sit here making jokes like this is something that means absolutely nothing to you. While your father is sitting right here, I might add.”

Dorian cast a glance at Halward, “Have I offended you too, Father? Even you have to admit the idea is a bit funny.”

\----

At the mention of the pool, Cullen’s strained smile melted into a genuine grin. How could it not? That had been one of the best days he could remember, made that way in large part by the remarkable man at his side. _Maker help me, he would have, too._ He squeezed Dorian's hand and opened his mouth to say so, but was cut off by Aquinea’s warning. No shenanigans, whatever that meant. Cullen shook his head and watched the battle of wills unfold, more than a little guilty that he'd started it.

But really, if he hadn't started it, it would have happened at some point anyway. And probably would happen again. He had a sudden vision of her dragging Dorian around by his earlobe all night, and his lips pursed for it. Figuratively, he was sure that was what was in store for them tonight… and he wasn’t so sure it wouldn't be literal, based on the way she'd acted in the hospital.

Was the idea funny? Out of context, maybe. But right now, it wasn't funny at all.

“Dorian,” Halward replied with a longsuffering sigh. “Don't needlessly antagonize your mother. She only has your best interests at heart. We both do.”

\----

“I know,” he answered with a sigh of his own. He didn’t believe it for a moment, but Dorian knew it was better to agree than not. “And I’m sure whatever you’ve picked for us to wear will be wonderful, Mother,” he amended gently, “I’m sorry I joked about it.”

That seemed to appease Aquinea well enough, and she nodded, “That’s all I wanted, my love,” she answered, then waved a hand toward the house, “I’m just sorry we had to have the function here. It would have been so much nicer at home.”

Dorian leaned in to Cullen a bit, “Mother’s parties in Qarinus are legendary,” he explained, “I’m fairly certain there’s a few Satanalia fetes that people still talk about.”

“At least we would have the space to accommodate everyone there,” she sighed, “everyone will be so cramped here.”

And just like that, her mind was off on something else, and they were at least safe for the moment. Dorian had appeased her temper, he hoped, and it made the rest of afternoon tea somewhat bearable. The flat out ignorance of any commentary on their relationship was trying, but Dorian had given up on that. For now, Dorian was ready to actually challenge a bit at this party. He would be Dorian Pavus- _Rutherford_ at this function, whether his family liked it or not.

Before long, they were led back inside under the guise of getting ready, and Aquinea showed them upstairs, “Your clothes are in your room, Dorian,” she prompted, then turned to look at Cullen, “and yours are in the guest room. Let one of the maids know if something doesn’t fit. I’m sure we can send someone off to get something on short notice if we need to.” Her eyes cut over his figure then, “hopefully we won’t have to, though.”

\----

For the most part, Cullen was silent throughout the rest of tea. The subject had shifted off of them, so that was something, but listening to Aquinea go on about the oh-so-important guests Dorian just _had_ to reconnect with grew tiring. So he sat there, ate what he considered a polite number of those dainty sandwiches, drank his lemonade when it was brought to him, and kept a hand near or on Dorian whenever they weren't eating. His parents wouldn't recognize Cullen for who he was, but he wasn't about to act any differently for it.

Dorian was managing well. Better than Cullen had expected, considering that moment of panic in the hotel room earlier. He knew there was more under the surface, that Dorian must have been using so much of his energy to maintain that cool exterior, but he'd held it together. If anything good came of this, it was that - that Dorian was perhaps finding the strength to face this, to face them. Either way, Cullen was happy to see it... proud to see it. The situation was near intolerable, but Dorian was navigating it with far more grace than Cullen had.

And now that tea was over, he found himself being directed to a room separate from his husband's to dress. He almost snorted, almost commented that they’d done more than get dressed in each other’s presence considering the fact that they were _married_ , but that would have been needlessly antagonistic, as Halward had put it. He waited for Aquinea to leave so he could have a moment alone with Dorian, but she seemed content to stand in the hallway until they went their separate ways, so he gave his husband’s hand a squeeze and offered up a smile for him. “I'll just be down the hall, I suppose,” he shrugged before making his way to the room Aquinea pointed out.

\----

Aquinea did stand there long enough to see both doors close before she made her way downstairs. In his room, Dorian counted the steps like he’d done a thousand times in his younger days, and when she was away, he made his way down to Cullen’s room and knocked gently. He waited a moment, then poked his head in, “Surely you’re not going to actually dress in here,” he prompted, “come on. We can see what Mother’s picked out and try not to roll our eyes too hard.”

\----

After Cullen entered the room and closed the door behind him, he paused to take a few breaths. He was letting his frustration get the better of him - he could feel it in his teeth, like biting down on aluminum foil. So far, he'd only made the one comment that was out of line, but it had been growing steadily more challenging to bite back the comments that were coming more and more readily to mind now that the nerves had given way to that anger.

He was already taking a few steps towards where a garment bag was laid out on the bed, fully intending to grab it and go back to Dorian's room provided the coast was clear, when he heard a soft knock at the door.

“Maker no,” he answered with as close to a laugh as he could get. “Just grabbing this and heading your way, actually,” he went on and gestured at the bag that presumably held his clothes for the evening. “Though are you sure it's ok? We are without a _chaperone_ , after all.”

\----

He nodded out into the hallway and extended his hand, “Arguably that’s the _best_ thing, no?” Dorian asked as he led Cullen out and into his room. Granted, the room at his parents’ second house wasn’t as grand as the one he’d grown up in, but it was still a shrine to him during his teenage years. While he’d attended the University at Vyrantium, he’d lived there, and the walls were covered (much to Aquinea’s disdain) with posters of music groups from the time and pictures of him from school. It was hardly the well decorated space she wanted, but it was very _Dorian_  from age eighteen to twenty-one.

When they were inside, he closed the door behind them and went to open his own garment bag. Inside was a pair of tasteful grey pants, so dark they were nearly black, and a rather fetching jewel-blue shirt. It wasn’t unlike the color he’d worn to Cullen’s show that first time, and he smiled a bit as he held it up and pressed it against his chest, “What do you think, amatus?” he asked, “did she do alright?”

\----

A true smile broke over Cullen’s face and he nodded as he moved closer into Dorian’s space to pinch a bit of the fabric between his fingers. He’d always loved this color on Dorian, but couldn’t really pinpoint why. Maybe it was the way it set his eyes off or maybe it was the way his skin glowed when he wore it. Either way, it was quite lovely.

“Mmmm,” he agreed, “There’s nothing wrong with her sense of fashion. You’ll be the most handsome man in the room...” He chuckled and leaned forward to press a kiss to Dorian’s cheek, free hand reaching up to softly trail a finger down the other one as he did, “But that wasn’t really in question, love.”

Still smiling, warmly and genuinely now that the anger he’d felt earlier had receded and he felt more like himself, Cullen tossed his own garment bag onto the bed and bent over to unzip it when his eye caught…

“Sweet Maker, is that… is that _you?_ ” he asked as he moved to a corkboard full of pictures, all showing smiling groups of people… but there was one amongst each group that stood out. The face was rounder, younger, but the eyes were the same, and Cullen grinned in delight as he inspected each and every picture with greedy eyes. “Look at you! Look at how cute you are!” He turned, eyes bright, to face Dorian again. “And hey… now I can cross something off my bucket list - I’ve always wondered what you might look like without the, you know,” he laughed as he brought a hand up to mimic the way Dorian smoothed his moustache out.

\----

Oh, Maker, he’d forgotten about all those. It had slipped his mind that all those pictures would still be up. Honestly, Dorian had expected Aquinea to tear them all down. He hadn’t even paid attention to them when he’d stepped in before, and to see Cullen looking at them now made his cheeks heat a little.

“I’m never _cute_ ,” he answered, “Maker help me. Forget you saw all these, hm?”

He sighed and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead before he set to pulling Cullen’s clothes out. Still, he couldn’t help but look up and watch Cullen looking at all those pictures. They were from before, before _there_ , and he hardly remembered what it was like to live like that. He’d been so... spoiled. So content to live like that. But the look on Cullen’s face was worth it. He looked so happy to see those pictures.

“You... like them?”

\----

“Are you kidding?” Cullen answered immediately. “Of course I do. It’s you, after all.” He moved back to the bed where Dorian was fussing with the other garment bag, a mischievous smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye. For the first time since setting foot in this place, he forgot the night ahead of them, forgot the way Dorian’s parents made him feel about two feet tall, forgot the way they made Dorian nearly break out in hives. For the first time since they got there, he felt happy and normal… and like he hadn’t _really_ kissed his husband in many, many days.

“And you were pretty adorable, but...,” he went on as he grabbed one of Dorian’s hands and pulled him gently into him as his voice dropped lower, “I rather prefer you _now_.” One arm wrapped around Dorian’s waist to pull him in closer. “How blasphemous would it be if I kissed you in here?”

\----

Both arms curled around Cullen’s neck, and he leaned up to press his lips against Cullen’s. Dorian sighed into it, leaned into him, and rested against his chest. The kiss was long, warm, and Dorian felt it all the way down to his toes. Yes, this was what they needed. They needed this closeness and sweetness after everything that week and morning and what was coming that night.

“Mm, I like this clandestine romance,” he teased against Cullen’s lips, “Maker knows you’re entirely too sweet to me.”

For Cullen to have seen all those pictures and not laughed, though, that warmed Dorian’s heart. He’d gone through a few phases during that time, which was when he’d first done the undercut, and they may have included much heavier makeup and hair the same length as Cullen’s had been when they’d met. Thank the Maker Cullen hadn’t paid that close of attention.

He kissed him again, long and slow, before he pulled away to grab out Cullen’s shirt so he could hold it up, “And look at you. _You’re_ going to be the most handsome man tonight. And _I_ get to tell _everyone_ that _you’re_ my husband.”

\----

Well, that was… it was exactly what Cullen needed, for his husband’s arms and lips and warmth to unseat the unease and frustration he’d felt. And it had. Nothing had ever soothed him like Dorian could, even now when they were in the belly of the beast, so to speak. He could only hope his presence did the same.

And there was a layer of fun, wasn’t there? It was on the surface and shallow but still there, in sneaking into Dorian’s room without his parents knowing, like they were teenagers. For a little while, at least, all that bad history - the things Cullen knew would happen to the smiling, cocky young man in those pictures - faded away and he laughed. A real laugh, as he pictured Aquinea and Halward’s faces if Dorian dared to do what he was describing.

And wouldn’t that be something? Some dramatic gesture to force them to accept it, finally, after days of pretending. It was against Cullen’s nature, normally, to be so public… but part of him wished they could. Part of him wished they could ignore the repercussions and just defy those _people_ , this whole fucked up society. He knew better, but it was a nice thought to entertain.

“Well, at least Aquinea’d get her wish - her party _would_ be the most-talked about to-do, at least until the next scandal hit. I’m certain a blood vessel or two would burst if you did.” The smile faded then as Cullen’s face shifted into a more serious expression, and he moved to take the shirt Dorian was holding. His eyes were soft but concerned as he took Dorian’s left hand in his own and brought it to his scarred lips to kiss the ring that marked their union. “Not that I’m keen on hiding us, not at all. This has been… trying to say the least. They won’t even recognize what we are and that’s just…” Cullen shook his head. It was awful is what it was. Horrible, to be denied who you are, and Cullen had only lived with it for four days. He took a breath before continuing, “… but would that be wise? To upset them? I know what they’ve tried in the past, and Maker… you don’t need them _really_ gunning for you again.”

\----

That made sense. There was a part of him that wanted to be spiteful and terrible, but Dorian knew better. It would only make his parents worse, and it was bad enough as it was. They’d be fighting against them asking for phone numbers and addresses as it was. Maker help them both when it came time to leave.

“How about we don’t antagonize?” he offered before he leaned in to kiss Cullen’s lips once, then his forehead, “but if anyone asks, we answer honestly. That sounds about right, hm?” One of Dorian’s hands lifted to run through Cullen’s hair. It stayed well in place thanks to his work before, and Dorian smiled for it. “Now, let’s get ready,” he teased, “you can snoop through my things and tell me how handsome I was when I was at school.”

It didn’t take them long to dress, though Dorian did spend some time on Cullen’s tie. When they went out for something more fancy, or for anything to do with work, Dorian often tied Cullen’s tie in that same special way. The knot looked good on him, and tonight was no exception. As he finished, he let his fingers linger on the ends of it, and he winked, “Maybe we ought to make off with one of these, you think?” Dorian asked, “put it to better use back at the hotel?”

\----

As they got dressed, Cullen let his eyes slide around the room, letting it sink in further. He wasn’t sure if he’d get another chance to get this sort of view into who Dorian was _before_ , so he drank everything in greedily. The posters indicated an eclectic taste in music, anything from rock to classical music to rock to R&B to pop the likes of which Cullen knew Dorian would flush if he brought it up. He took it all in with a little smile and edged back over to the pictures to get another look. Dorian in various phases of his life, clean cut and proper in some, long-haired and a bit on the outrageous in others. It was… it was telling of how things must have been. There was the Dorian who wanted to please his parents right next to the one who wanted to defy them. Cullen loved each and every one. Whether the smile shown on that face was genuine or full of cynicism, he loved them.

The clothes Aquinea put him in were, not surprisingly, finely made and, also unsurprisingly, fit him, both physically and aesthetically. It seemed like both mother and son had the uncanny ability to just know what would work best for him… or was it magic? Either way, he finished getting dressed and, as usual, got Dorian to knot his tie. He was hopeless at that sort of thing, anyway, and he always liked the feeling of Dorian’s fingers working so closely and the the look of concentration on the man’s face.

“Perhaps we _don’t_ use something from your mother like that?” Cullen laughed as Dorian finished, face a shade of pink for the thought. “But you were quite handsome in school. I _especially_ like the long hair. I’m thinking maybe you should bring that look back.” He was teasing, of course he was, and winked at Dorian with a smile. There was no version of his husband he wouldn’t love to bits, but the one standing right in front of him, the one who chose _him_ was arguably the best.

\----

“Oh, if I’m growing my hair out again, so are you,” he pointed out with one more adjustment to Cullen’s lapels. Dorian leaned up for a kiss, smiled, and ran his hands over his husband’s arms. Dressed up as they were, Dorian knew they were a sight. He could see them in his mirror, obstructed as it was by pictures shoved into the corners, and they were beautiful. Cullen looked amazing in those clothes, which he should have expected, but Cullen truly looked wonderful.

He wound his arms around Cullen’s waist then, and just rested his chin on the other man’s shoulder, “Did you want a refresh on your hair?” Dorian asked, “maybe a bit of eyeliner to spice it up a little? I’m sure there’s some kicking around still.”

The few times he’d ever seen Cullen play with his makeup were... well, Dorian warmed to think of them. If only they could play that instead of this party. But they were ready now, and Dorian was most certainly ready for a drink. He set to fixing his own hair one more time, refreshed his makeup, and by the time both he and Cullen had completely finished and managed to hunt down some cologne that didn’t smell like desperation for his teen years, a maid knocked on the door.

“Master Dorian?” she called, “er... Lady Aquinea’s asking for you downstairs.”

\----

And there went the moment. It was bound to happen, but still… disappointing. Cullen’s brows lifted at the maid’s request. Was she asking for Dorian alone - wanting to get a word in private before the… festivities, then? Well, Cullen had decided he wasn’t going to let his husband out of his sight tonight, and he’d be damned if he was going to let _her_ be alone with him to spew her toxic shit.

“I think I’ll tag along, if it’s all the same,” Cullen said as he moved closer to his husband’s side and looped his arm through one of Dorian’s.

\----

Dorian smiled and turned to nuzzle at Cullen’s neck, “I’d prefer it if you did,” he told Cullen softly, and led them toward the door. When they opened it, the maid grinned and clasped her hands together as she looked them both other.

“You both look so handsome!” she told them, then blinked and quickly lowered her gaze as a blush touched her features, “er, I’m sorry. Enjoy your evening.”

That made him smile, and as Dorian walked past the girl he rested a hand on her shoulder. He led them both downstairs, which had been moderately transformed with flowers and tables of nibbles and drinks, and turned into the living room to see Halward seated on a couch and Aquinea standing in front of him. They were talking. They were talking and not paying attention until the movement of Cullen and Dorian coming closer pulled their gaze over.

Aquinea smiled and folded her arms, “Well, look at you,” she practically cooed, “very nice. Though I wish you’d wipe that... ugh, that eyeliner off your face, Dorian. It’s ridiculous.” Still, she looked them both over one more time and took a few steps in closer, “Look at them, Halward, proper gentlemen at last. Just like we wanted.”

Dorian was about to open his mouth to argue with that, if only because it made his blood boil, but the sound of the doorbell covered it. That was it. No more time. Now they had to be _on_ and _dazzling_ and a _family_ and Dorian wanted to throw up. He clenched his hand at his side and squeezed Cullen’s tighter than he had before. They could do this. It was only a few hours. They could manage that. They’d managed worse.

Right? They’d managed worse? This... the feeling of anxiety that crawled up Dorian’s spine and his throat like a spider up a wall? It made every joint and muscle tense until it ached. Aquinea’s smug look, that comment, and everything else. All of it.

They’d managed worse. They had to have. If this was the worst thing, then Dorian wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it.

\----

There wasn't any time to react to those puzzling words - _proper gentlemen at last, just like we wanted_ \- before the veritable wave of guests was upon them. Dorian and, by extension, Cullen were dragged from group to group so Dorian could ‘reconnect’ with very important people who did, as far as Cullen could tell, very important things. It was like one of Dorian's auctions, but far, far more intense. Aside from Dorian, the only familiar faces Cullen trusted were of Felix and Allora, but they were allowed precious little time in their company before being whisked off to meet Magister Whatsit and her two perfectly perfect children. And so, his purpose became to smile, shake hands, remain silent, and ignore the unabashedly curious looks of those he met.

It was lonely. If not for the warm hand in his own, he'd have felt completely alone in this alien world where he was so obviously different. He wondered if that's how Dorian felt when he came to Ferelden, alone and out of place, and Cullen risked standing closer, shoulder to shoulder, as he squeezed his husband's hand.

As Aquinea’s attentions were drawn elsewhere, Cullen tilted his head down close to Dorian's ear. “What are the odds we can at least escape her, if not this party?” he murmured so only Dorian could hear. “Maker, my head's spinning. I might actually scream the next time she calls me your _friend._ ”

\----

It was fucking _endless._ The names and faces and people and handshakes and kisses and forced smiles. Dorian had almost forgotten what it was like to be at something like this. The work parties had nothing on this, if only because when it was work it was... well, work. He could do it for work. This was something else. It felt worse, more greasy and slimy, and with every conversation it was like he could feel part of himself slipping away.

It was killing his resolve.

Each person they talked to was some long time family friend, and they greeted Dorian with such enthusiasm that he had to wonder if Aquinea had paid them or something to make it seem genuine. Cullen’s hand helped to make him feel less like he was drifting in the sea, but he could feel it taking over his mind with that same sort of slow, sludgy feeling that often came over him at these. He was something to be shown off, as was Halward at this party, and all he had to do was smile and be the perfect son. It was a hard affect to not fall back into.

But then his mother was gone, and Dorian had to fight the urge to feel like he was drowning. The house was small and so many people made it feel hot and close. All those people, all the ego and air of supremacy, made him feel sick. He was spiralling again, circling in a maelstrom, and he had to take a breath to try to get out of it.

_I might actually scream…_

Cullen had the right of it, and he leaned back against his husband’s chest. Dorian needed to feel that warmth and closeness, and he turned to wind an arm around Cullen’s waist. He buried his face in against Cullen’s clean shaved jaw, then sighed. “Me too,” he replied in a low tone, “I’m starting to wonder how much longer I can keep it up.”

“Dorian?” a voice from the side asked, and he tensed at Cullen’s side before he lifted his head. To their left was a woman he’d known from back then, one of Aquinea’s acquaintances, and she was looking at him expectantly. Of course she was.

He sucked in another breath and managed a smile, “Lady Genevieve,” Dorian greeted, “good to see you. You’re looking as lovely as ever.” She wasn’t; apparently, her last face lift had done something weird to her eyes so her nose looked pinched, but Dorian knew better than not to be polite.

“It’s been so long since we’ve seen you,” she answered, then paused as she looked at Cullen, “oh... hello. I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

Dorian stood up a bit straighter then and gestured between them, “Lady Genevieve Calleio, one of Mother’s friends for years,” he explained, “meet Cullen Pavus-Rutherford. My husband.”

“ _Husband?_ ”

“Yes, husband,” Dorian answered proudly, “though I can’t imagine Mother would have said anything.”

“N-no... no she didn’t,” the woman answered, then took a step backward, “it was good to see you again, Dorian. And good to meet you... Cullen.” She wandered back off again then, headed back toward the salon, and Dorian frowned as he watched her go. The woman would be heading straight for Aquinea, he knew it.

He sighed, “Well, that was certainly worth the price of admission, you think?”

\----

Well, that was a little more than _if someone asks, answer honestly_ , but truth be told, Cullen liked it. He liked it very much, to hear Dorian introduce him properly here, and to one of Aquinea’s friends, no less. He knew full well - or as well as he could being a newcomer here - what Dorian had just done. That little slip of information here was just as overt as a flashing neon sign above their heads, and would likely make the rounds twice before they could walk across the room. It would most assuredly bring the wrath of Aquinea down upon their heads, but right now, it just made Cullen love Dorian that much more. The easier thing here would have been to hide, to just go through the motions and then go home, but Dorian wasn't interested in that… and that made Cullen's stomach flutter in a way that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with the tone Dorian used, clear and proud. Proud of him. Proud of _them_.

A smile spread across Cullen's face, somewhere between adoring and mischievous, as he wrapped an arm around Dorian's shoulder to pull him closer. He pressed a kiss to the soft hair at Dorian's temple before resting his head against his husband’s. “I very much agree, though I'm pretty sure your mother would consider that… what did she say? Shenanigans. Yes, she'd say that you were up to ‘your shenanigans.’” A moment passed while Cullen took a breath, letting the scent of Dorian's cologne and skin warm him further. “You're something else, you know that? And I love you more for it… thank you.”

\----

“Everyone will know before the end of the night,” he answered before he hugged Cullen closer. A few people were looking at them, for all Dorian cared, and he reached up to brush a hand along his husband’s cheek, “and you don’t have to thank me. It’s just what’s right. The end.”

Not a moment later, and Aquinea made her way over to the two. They were totally engrossed in each other, and she shook her head as she tried to get herself under control. This needed to be dealt with. Immediately. “Dorian,’ she prompted, “your father’s looking for you. There’s some ministers from Qarinus visiting who’d like to see you, and he asked that I send you his way.” Her tone was rushed and impatient, but still erring just this side of polite. “Hurry now,” she told him, “don’t keep them waiting, after all.”

Dorian blinked for that and reached down for Cullen’s hand, “Sure, right,” he answered with a nod and started to go before Aquinea reached out to pry Dorian’s hand from Cullen’s.

“You don’t need any help to go _talk_ to someone, my love,” Aquinea pointed out, “Maker knows I’ve seen you do it on your own enough times. Cullen will be just fine for ten minutes on his own.” One eyebrow cocked then, and she lifted her chin a bit. It was a challenge. “That is, unless you don’t trust him,” she went on, “I know how... paranoid you can be, sweetheart.”

He set his jaw for that and looked up into Cullen’s eyes, “Ten minutes?” he asked him, “you’ll be alright?”

\----

Cullen’s brows knit together over narrowed eyes. He’d promised himself, many times, that he wouldn’t leave Dorian alone with either of his parents. He’d promised himself that he’d do his best to be Dorian’s rock for as long as he needed or wanted Cullen to play that role. Though Dorian was asking him now if he’d be alright alone, it didn’t feel like that was what he really wanted. Well, Aquinea had all but ripped them apart in thinly-veiled desperation… of course that wasn’t what he wanted.

And while the father, Halward, was less vicious than his wife, he was no less dangerous. Both of them had made the call to send Dorian away. Both of them hired investigators to track their son down. They were, the both of them, complicit in each and every abuse over the years.

“Of course I’ll be fine,” he answered Dorian as he tilted his head to the side and looked into his husband’s eyes, “… If that’s what you want.” His own eyes were questioning, seeking the truth, and he took a breath before turning to Aquinea, “Though I’m not sure I understand why I can’t just join my husband. There aren’t any secrets between us.”

She wouldn’t like that, being questioned openly and hearing Cullen speak the truth about their relationship. She could also just deal with it. Dorian had taken the first step towards not hiding who they were, and Cullen wasn’t about to back down now.

\----

Aquinea’s jaw set, “You’re both so defensive,” she pointed out, “it’s just ten minutes. And I’m sure you don’t have any desire to listen to Halward’s old friends go on and on.” She waved a hand then, “besides, Dorian’s a big boy now and he doesn’t need someone to hold his hand to walk across the house.” Though she didn’t smile, she cut a glance toward her son, “right?”

Oh, but he knew that challenge. It was... Maker, it was maddening, and Dorian could feel his blood boiling. This was her typical nonsense. It was some way to try to make him look like a rebellious child somehow by _not_ wanting to do what an adult would be able to do so easily. His hand clenched, but then he turned to Cullen, “Ten minutes, _amatus_ ,” he told him and made sure to let his voice linger on the word before he leaned up to kiss Cullen’s lips, “I’ll try not to get into any trouble, alright?” Ten minutes wasn’t long. It wasn’t short, at least not in this house, but it wasn’t long. They could handle that much, after all. And there would be other people there. Not even Halward or Aquinea would openly be terrible in front of their friends.

As Dorian let go of Cullen and headed off into the crowd, Aquinea sighed and shook her head so her coal-black waves fell across her shoulders. “That boy,” she mused softly, “is a handful and a half.” After a moment she turned to Cullen and offered a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Cullen,” she began again, “why don’t you come with me, hm? We haven’t had the chance to really _talk_ , and... I’m worried we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. All of this with Halward being hurt and Dorian coming back, and I haven’t had the chance to get to know my son’s…” her words faltered a bit and she swallowed a bit thickly, “husband. It’s a shame, and we should remedy that. Don’t you think?”

\----

Amber eyes were trained on Dorian's receding back as Aquinea spoke, only meeting hers once he'd ducked into another room. _Out of sight. He's out of my sight. I said I wouldn't let that happen._ That stone in the pit of his stomach rolled over, loosing a wave of worry as it did, and Cullen clenched the hand that had been holding Dorian's into a tight fist. He sucked his teeth in frustration and annoyance as she finished. Aquinea’s tone was warmer than he'd heard it, at least directed towards him, and she'd actually said the words, but her eyes were still glinting.

_What fine bullshit this is._

And it was. He knew better than to believe a word of that, and it was tempting to decline her offer… but oh, there were _things_ he wanted to say to her, too, and it wouldn't do to make a scene out here in the open.

“I bet it's been _very_ trying, Aquinea,” Cullen began, words sympathetic, but tone anything but. “It may be time for us to talk, now that you've had time to breathe.”

\----

She nodded and gestured for him to follow her into another room, “Halward’s study should be private enough,” Aquinea told him, and led him away from the others so that she could let them in and close the door behind them. Once the door was shut, she took a breath and sighed rather deeply this time, “Maker help me, I feel like these things take more out of me as the years go on.” One hand lifted to brush through her hair, which only made the white streak that was in such stark contrast to the rest of her dark hair that much more pronounced. “Now…”

It took a moment, but she turned and offered the two chairs that sat beside one another in front of a large desk, “please, Cullen, sit. Be comfortable.” Aquinea did as much, if only to show she was willing to, and adjusted her skirt as she got settled. “You’ve looked a bit spooked since you two came downstairs.”

\----

_Spooked_ wasn’t quite the word Cullen would have used himself. Tired, frustrated, a bit jumpy yes, but right now he wasn’t quite _spooked._ Not anymore. He was, however, curious to hear just what it was Aquinea had to say for herself now that there was no one around to impress, not even Dorian. “I will admit to being a little overwhelmed,” he said with a little smile as he took the seat next to her, “Our affairs in Ferelden are more… simple, I’m afraid. But this… it’s amazing you threw something like this together on such short notice. And a testament to your husband, too, that he can hold himself together when _most_ would need this time to rest and heal.”

\----

One eyebrow cocked and Aquinea rested her hands in her lap, “Halward’s always been very proud,” she pointed out, “he and Dorian are so much alike like that.” She smiled then, “When he was little all he wanted was to be just like his father. I remember one year they had a dress up day at his school, for some... Maker, I can’t remember, and he wanted to go as him in his Magisterium robes. It was so sweet. He used to be... so sweet.”

Her expression darkened then, and she shook her head. Then grey eyes lifted as she regarded Cullen, “but tell me about you. You and Dorian have been a bit mum on so much, and I’d love to know the man who…” Like before, her voice trailed off, and Aquinea cleared her throat, “means so much to my son. Maker knows I never thought he’d actually settle down. You must be something special to bring that out in him.”

\----

_… they can’t be allowed to see it. If they find a weakness, then they might do something to try to hurt you…_

Those had been Dorian’s words the night they made it to the hospital. _Don’t let them see you_. Cullen remembered those words, remembered being confused by their meaning, but as he looked into those eyes that were so familiar and strange at the same time… the meaning was clear. More so than when Dorian explained them himself because those eyes were… hungry somehow. He would have to be careful. Very.

“Well, I can't claim to be special,” he answered, keeping his tone light. “But we're happy… we have our days, of course. Arguing over who has to take out the trash, that sort of thing, but _happy_.” He smiled then, genuine and warm as he thought of their home together, far away from here. “I can't imagine life without him any more… but I don't mean to get all sentimental on you.”

\----

One blink, then two, and Aquinea just nodded. That smile was still painted on her face, and she licked her lips as she studied Cullen for a long moment, “Well, I imagine finding that happiness is good for you both,” she offered, “I mean, I know it can be hard with him. Dorian’s always been difficult, but when he likes something he does _usually_ try to make the effort.”

She lifted a hand to study her nails then, “And of course you deserve all the happiness in the world. Having an _illness_ can make life so difficult, can’t it?” Aquinea asked, “When the days are hard enough to face on your own, of course. I can hardly imagine what it would be like.”

\----

One eyebrow cocked for that and the smile that had been so warm with thoughts of Dorian became tense, strained. Hard and unnatural on his face. “Illness?” he asked, “I’m sorry, but who’s supposed to be ill?”

But he knew. Of course he knew. Like the woman who’d once hired private investigators to track her son down wouldn’t look up information on him. And it wouldn’t have been hard to find, either - a quick internet search would have dragged up all the unsightly trappings of his life before he’d gotten the help he needed. Arrest records, varying from petty larceny to, most recently, assault, were right there. Public record for anyone curious enough to find.

She knew.

\----

“Well, Dorian is. Maker, I do hope he told you,” she answered, “he can be so secretive.” She shook her head again, “Always plotting on something. Never content. We did _try_ , of course, but it wasn’t something that could be fixed. Though we would have loved to see him cured of his problems... sometimes I think he preferred to keep them just to spite us.”

Again, she waved a hand, “but that’s not the point. This is about you,” Aquinea went on, “Dorian said you work for a music studio, didn’t he? That would be... interesting, hm? So much to do all the time with so many picky clients? That would be rather trying here and there, I’d imagine.”

Aquinea let that hang for just a moment, “especially for someone who’s been in and out of treatment facilities. I’d imagine you both had something to bond over.”

\----

It was Cullen’s turn to just stare and blink as his mind wrapped around what she’d just said. _Dorian, ill?_ It hadn’t even occurred to him that she meant Dorian, though considering what they’d done to him… he should have expected it. And she was speaking so flippantly about it, like it had been a fucking _choice_ Dorian had made to rebel against them. That he’d just _decided_ to be who he was to… what? Make their lives miserable? Make his _own_ life miserable? Make it so that, as a fully grown adult, he’d _still_ be nearly consumed by a numbing panic at the very thought of them, despite the _years_ of hard work to put it behind him?

Simply and utterly infuriating. It was maddening, and Cullen felt that anger, hot and close, spike out from his brain, sizzling like lightning where it raced down his spine and out along the pathways of his nerves. She could pile shit onto _him_ all he wanted. He’d at least made the choices that led him down the path he walked. But not Dorian - he hadn’t had the chance to make a choice. _They_ saw to that.

“Drop the act already,” Cullen said through clenched teeth. “You don’t get to sit there and pretend like you _care_. Like you _ever_ cared. There’s not a single fucking thing wrong with your son, and there never was.” All pretense was gone now, he couldn’t help it. Maker, this outburst was probably going to reverberate for a good long while, and Dorian would be the one to pay for it, but Cullen couldn’t… he _couldn’t_ sit there and listen to this utter bullshit. “He’s a _good_ man. A kind man, no thanks to you. He saved me in ways you wouldn’t even begin to understand. You don’t deserve him. Neither of you do.”

He rose then, meaning to leave. To just... get out. He needed air. He needed to breathe before this got any more heated and he couldn’t keep his voice down. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at here, but you can play it by yourself. You’re not worth my time.”

\----

She got to her feet as well and folded her arms, “Oh, _I’m_ not worth _your_ time?” Aquinea asked, “says the man who went on a drug binge for _how_ many years? Says the man with an assault record with the police? Says the man who comes into someone else’s home and insults them for making casual observations?” A soft _tsk_ left her lips and she shook her head, “I did wonder why Dorian would be drawn to someone like you. You’re not anything at all like the people he cared about, but now... I see it.”

One hand reached out as her arms unfolded and she rested a it on Cullen’s chest, “You’re as willful as he is, and apparently don’t like to accept your lot in life. Only now instead of ruining just your own life, you’ll ruin his. Maybe not now, but it’ll come. When you self destruct again, which I’m sure you will with that temper you seem to have, you’ll take everything around you out as well. And that includes him. The only problem now is that he’s so set on this being independent that he’ll allow it to happen. I pray the Maker helps you, Cullen, helps your anger, because I worry that one day you’ll take it out on Dorian.”

Aquinea moved away then and made for the door, “That is, of course, provided things don’t end between you before that happens. It could. Perhaps it should. Maybe all this was a mistake, some passionate thing that you both got too involved in. Maybe it would be better for you both if you decided that you were better on your own. Before he does, I mean. Because the only thing more certain than your inevitable breakdown is the fact that my Dorian isn’t the marrying kind. He’ll tire of you and your simple little ways, and then you’ll be left with nothing. And _then_ you’ll self destruct.” She turned to look at Cullen then, and did smile.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know it. You do. I can see it in your face. You worry about it with every word you say and every time you look at him. You hold onto him tighter than he does to you, like just before we came in here. Because you’re scared,” Aquinea told him, “and here I thought my darling little boy would bring me a challenge. Apparently not.”

\----

As that barrage of words tumbled over him, an odd thing happened. It started in Cullen's chest and moved outward in pulses, until his whole body tingled with it. Clarity. Calm. It was a strange settled sort of peace in the face of all that poison. For the first time since the night Dorian asked him to get out of the shower in a shaky, small voice, Cullen's mind and heart were still. His face went blank with it at first, and then he felt himself smiling - _smiling_ \- as Aquinea sought to tear him down.

Was he afraid? Yes. Of course he was. Was he guilty? Also, yes. He'd have to live every day of his life knowing what he'd done. Had he hurt Dorian? Again, yes. Deeply.

Had he been forgiven? Was he strong enough to forgive himself?

Was he loved?

_Yes._

And that knowledge trumped every piece of vitriol that came out of her mouth. He was above it. _They_ were above it.

“All those words,” he started softly, shaking his head and still smiling that calm little smile. “You're the one who's scared, Aquinea. Look at you… throwing everything at me, clinging to the hope that I'll leave. It's desperate… it's sad. The fact is he doesn't need you. He doesn't need me, even. He's his own person, and that terrifies you, doesn't it?” He let that question hang in the air for a moment as he regarded that face, so like Dorian's except he'd never seen Dorian so twisted and _little._ “So I hope the Maker can help _you_ , so you can come to terms with your own fear, your own selfishness. Because right now… you're so small, I can't even see you.”

Cullen shook his head sadly at Aquinea then and took a step towards the door. “But by all means, keep playing your little game. Keep shuffling the pieces around the board, if you think it makes you happy. It's just… you don't have an opponent, so the only person you'll be beating is yourself.”

\----

Once he’d left Cullen, which had been harder than Dorian wanted to admit, he’d entered the fray of people and promptly... well, he felt his anxiety climbing. Cullen wasn’t with him. Wasn’t. He wasn’t there with him, and while Dorian knew he could and _should_ do this alone, he couldn’t help but feel that panic. Having to go meet his father like this, separated, made him worry and wonder. Something wasn’t right, he knew that, but what else could he do?

Maker, that old feeling of helplessness took him. And Dorian stalled for a moment when he saw his father and the others standing there. Could he do this? Surely he could put on the old blank face and do what he needed to, but it made his palms sweat. _Go talk to him. Be nice. Smile. You’re not being polite, Dorian. Stop acting like that_. It was like a wave of deja vu.

Slowly, though, he made his way over, “Mother said you were looking for me, Father?” he asked, then nodded at the others, “sorry to interrupt.”

\----

Looking for him, indeed. Halward Pavus didn’t _look_ for people. He commanded and they came. Just as Dorian had done, though he was sure Aquinea played a part in that. What she could have said to separate his wayward son from that hulking Fereldan, he had no idea. He was, however, grateful for it. Halward had plans - he _always_ had plans - and none of them involved… any of what Dorian had chosen, least of all a man from the south.

It was… a setback. The rings on their fingers, the way they were practically joined at the hip, it was a challenge, to be sure. But Halward wasn’t known to be a person to shy away from challenges. He _enjoyed_ them, as a matter of fact. Aquinea was currently off working on the Ferelden... so this challenge, his son with all his potential and all his faults, was his. 

“Ah, the prodigal son,” Halward said with a smile, though there was hardly any humor in his eyes. He knew what sort of stunt the boy had just pulled - telling someone he was _married._ Preposterous. And now, half of Tevinter would know by the morning. This couldn’t stand. “My friends, I do hope you’ll excuse us for just a moment. My boy and I have a bit of catching up to do. Dorian, come.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand, pure and simple. Halward commanded, and the boy _would_ follow him as he made his way calmly out of the room and onto the empty veranda.

Once they were outside, Halward turned. “Do you have anything to tell me, son?”

\----

One eyebrow cocked for that, and he watched Halward go, he couldn’t help the rash spike of spitefulness that coursed through him. Only a few words, and his blood was boiling, but that was their way. By the time they got home, Dorian would probably have to see a doctor about his blood pressure since none of this could be good for it. Though hopefully his plans for after this little trip would help.

He did follow, but when they got out onto that veranda, Dorian folded his arms, “Am I a dog now?” he asked, “asking me to come like that? Not even Mother’s tried that one yet.”

\----

“No need to get so angry, I only wanted you to follow,” Halward answered, nonplussed at his son’s tone. It was to be expected. With Dorian, it was a fight. It was always a fight. “No offense meant, though you seem to be keen to take it where you can.” A long sigh escaped his lips as he shook his head. “Dorian, it’s time to stop this foolishness. Your mother isn’t here, so tell me… is it true? Have you… did you actually marry that man? Is it legally binding?”

\----

Right into it. Leave it to Halward to not pull any punches. He’d always liked dealing with him better than Aquinea for that. There were less headgames, but more... well, Halward had a tendency to try to set things in motion that Dorian had to fix. Aquinea would try to manipulate where Halward would just do as he liked.

“I did,” he answered, “marry him. Because I love him, in case you were actually wondering. Which should have maybe been your second question instead of prying into any legal... whatever it is you’re aiming for.” Dorian narrowed his eyes then and gave Halward a look, “but yes, all the necessary paperwork is in order. He’s my husband. Completely.”

\----

Of course he was. Halward already had the documentation that proved it saved in the study. Even better, Gereon’s son had signed off on the paperwork. That was a piece of information Halward was storing to discuss with his friend later, but for now… for now, he had his own headstrong boy to deal with. “Well then,” he answered, “I’m happy for you.”

\----

Those words actually sounded poisonous coming from his father’s mouth. Dorian couldn’t remember the last time Halward had said those words to him, actually. He remembered him being proud, whether or not that was the case now remained to be seen, but _happy?_ It was kind of creepy, now that he looked at Halward and watched him for a moment.

“Seriously?” Dorian asked more gently, “you’re... happy?”

\----

“Oh, yes,” Halward answered, tone flat, “Couldn’t be more pleased that my only son has chained himself to a dead end.” He walked away from his son, just a few steps to the edge of the veranda and looked up into the night sky. “Ignoring, for the moment, that you are effectively killing this branch of the Pavus family with your little act of romantic rebellion, the man is _sick_ , Dorian. An addict, and violent, according to the records we found. He’s going nowhere but down, and dragging you with him.” There was a breath of silence before he let his shoulders slump and he turned. “You are my blood,” he continued, and this time his voice was cast lower, more weary than it had been before. More earnest, and that was a surprise even to his own ears. “You are my _son_. Dear to me as my own life, and I won’t watch you throw everything away... all you could be, all we gave you… just gone for a chance to play house with some washed up junkie.”

\----

He was torn. Part of him wanted to actually punch his father in the jaw for saying that and part of him wanted to laugh. Of course. Of course that’s what he meant by ‘happy.’ And of course Dorian had hoped that maybe his father could have found a heart somewhere inside him that wasn’t pushed by ambition or pride. Why did he bother? Just... why? He knew better.

“I feel like I could list off all the ways that statement is wrong, but I’d probably be wasting my time,” Dorian deadpanned, “but you _are_ wrong. Did you know that?” He did laugh then, a high and almost manic kind of sound, “You’re WRONG! You’re wrong about absolutely everything, and it’s actually hilarious.”

Dorian waved a hand and stepped off to the other side of the veranda so he could look out at the street, “all this time and you’re still trying the same shit, Halward. If I hadn’t seen it on the news, I’d have thought you and Mother would have concocted this whole thing just to get me here. Honestly. It’s _nonsense_ , and I’m _tired_ of it. Aren’t you?”

\----

“Oh, I am. But you have to ask yourself...” Halward returned, voice cool and eyebrow raised. “Is this, what your life has become, something that is truly fulfilling for you? Cataloging art so those more successful than you can waste their money, babysitting a… partner who could relapse at any moment? Wondering if maybe he sometimes wished you were his dead wife? Weekly therapy sessions? Is that what you truly want for yourself?” He rounded on his son and heard the edge of anger in his own voice. “All this fighting. All this hardship… and for what, Dorian? Living beneath your station so you can say you’re _different_? Use your brain, boy. I know you have one, so _think_ … Come home. Be who you’re supposed to be, and you won’t have to fight any more.”

\----

“Don’t you _dare_ begin to presume _anything_ about Cullen,” Dorian growled. His voice was low and measured, but his shoulders hunched just a little. He felt not unlike the serpent of their family crest ready to strike. Had he any poison, he might have. This was one of those moments he wished that it was the Imperium of the ancient times where murders at a party like this were fun and exciting, because he might not have thought twice about shoving a fucking knife in Halward’s chest to finish the job that the bullet couldn’t do.

But maybe that was being overly dramatic. Now wasn’t the time for that.

He took a breath, willed himself to fight the rolling waves of anger that were crashing over him like a tsunami, and counted. _1 2 3 4 5,_ then exhaled, _6 7 8 9 10._ Alright. “You keep my husband’s name out of your mouth. And your head. Whatever you think you know? Forget all of it,” Dorian hissed, “I...  _never_ want to hear from you again, do you hear me? Ever. Again. And so help me if I find out you’ve tried any of your usual bullshit.”

With that, he turned and stalked back off inside. It should have felt right. It should have felt powerful, but it didn’t. Those were the words he’d always wanted to say but never had the strength to do so. It should have felt good, but a weight settled in his chest and he had to go before any evidence of his wet and red eyes could be seen. They needed to go. Now.

This time, for good.

And he kind of wanted to die.


	4. Dissonance [4 of 4]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which another ghost from the past shows his face, and Cullen and Dorian take comfort in each other.

Cullen held it together long enough to brush past Aquinea and leave the room. Still riding that strange wave of calm, he closed the door behind him, and then… well, then, the bottom dropped out. All the adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream at once, multiplied by every painful barb she'd shot out of her mouth. He was _proud_ of himself for the way he'd handled it, well, at least for the way he left the room, but she'd been _very_ close to the truth. Not about Dorian - Cullen didn't believe for a second that Dorian didn't return his love in equal measure, or that he would grow tired of Cullen and leave him. That part was laughable, considering what they'd survived together. But the bits about _him_? There were kernels of truth there.

And so, shaking, he made his way a few steps down the hallway before he had to lean back against a wall and just breathe for a moment. In... _1 2 3 4 5…_ and out _6 7 8 9 10_. _Again. One more time. You worked so none of that would happen again. It's been two years, and it’s not a daily struggle any more.You have the tools you need to cope. You won't fall again. You have support. You have love. You have Dorian. And you're deserving of all that. You are worthy of all that._

The shaking didn't go away, not entirely, but the world didn't feel so damn unstable any more. And now that time didn't feel like it was folding into itself, Cullen had two thoughts in his head: _find Dorian_ and _leave_.

But all he saw were unfamiliar faces in the crowd; neither Dorian nor his father were anywhere to be seen. A feeling of dread settled in, and he fought to control another wave of that unsettled, wobbly feeling of fear and worry. He fought to breathe, and that was hard. Hard to breathe with all these strangers sucking the air out of the house, looking at him with everything from curiosity to disgust. _Out_ , he thought then. _Out, just for a minute. Just to breathe._ The front door beckoned, so he walked through it out into the warm night air.

Better, but only marginally so. Still, out here, he was alone. He could pull it together, gather the strength he needed to go back in and find Dorian, and do it without all those eyes on him.

But he wasn't alone. The smell of smoke filled his nose, and amber eyes wandered to settle on a man standing off to the side of the front walk. He was standing there, cool eyes regarding the newcomer, cigarette trapped between the first two fingers of his right hand. Cullen barely registered what the man looked like, but he saw that cigarette, and having one right now seemed like a very fucking good idea, despite the fact that he hadn't smoked in years.

“Excuse me,” he said as he walked over to the lone man, and he didn't care for the way his voice shook. A cough to clear his throat and steady himself, and he continued, “I'm sorry for asking, but could I get one of those off you, please? It's been… a _night_.”

\----

The party was a bust. They’d been there an hour, and the one thing Rilienus wanted to do hadn’t made itself available yet. Why fucking else come to this thing, right? He hadn’t cared to be near Halward and Aquinea Pavus in years, mostly out of spite, but not only had he been forced by his parents but there was the _rumor_ that Dorian was in town as well. _That_ news traveled fast. He’d heard whispers since they got there, but hadn’t seen a glimpse of the man yet.

Maker help him if Dorian was avoiding him.

So he’d left Talitha with a gaggle of friends who wanted to fawn over her now-showing belly. He couldn’t be there for that, not now. If the possibility of seeing Dorian was a real one, then there was no way that he could stand next to his _finally_ pregnant wife and smile. It had taken so much _money_ to make it work, after all, and they were finally some sort of happy... ish? At any rate, less at each other’s throats, and seeing Dorian would completely destroy that. Of course Rilienus still _wanted_ to, however.

He’d gone outside to smoke, if only to avoid any more intrusive questions about the baby, and sighed when he heard someone come close. Though... Maker help the man, he looked ill. Completely ill. Ill and like he shouldn’t have been there, but he was dressed like he belonged somehow. Rilienus blinked, then reached into his pocket for the pack to hold out, “Sure,” he answered, “are you... alright?”

Well, he was handsome. That was something. He wasn’t anything Rilienus would go for normally, but he was easy enough on the eyes.

\----

Fingers that were still a little shaky fished a cigarette out from the pack the man held out for him. Cullen hadn’t really wanted to engage beyond getting that smoke from him, but the man was asking if he was alright, and that was far more compassion than anyone at this Maker-forsaken thing had shown him the whole evening. “Thanks,” he replied, “And I’m fine… but I’ll be much better as soon as I can get out of here.” With that, he began to turn to walk away and find some place to be alone, but cigarettes needed fire, and he hadn’t had a lighter on him in years at this point. “Ah, sorry again, but can I get a light, please?”

\----

Rilienus nodded, fished in his jacket for a lighter, and held it out. As he watched this man, though, there was something... familiar. It was probably stupid, considering he’d never met this guy before, but something about him was giving him the most intense feeling like he knew him. Of course he cycled through his mental index and came up with nothing, but it was absolutely maddening.

“I’m... sorry,” Rilienus began, “you just look really familiar. I don’t mean to stare. Are you sure you’re okay?”

The man seemed a bit out of sorts. If anything, maybe he’d at least have some other dissatisfied person to talk to since it seemed Dorian had no interest in finding him.

\----

Cullen reached for the lighter and lit his cigarette before taking a deep breath in. Maker, it had been, what, two years since he'd smoked? It tasted awful, but he inhaled all the same, coughed a bit for the strength of it, and felt the effects of the nicotine wash over him. That was at least good for the jangly nerves, gross taste aside.

His eyebrows lifted when the man said he looked familiar. Back home in Ferelden, that would made sense, but here? Cullen didn't exactly blend in. A moment passed as he regarded the man, trying to remember if maybe, _maybe_ he'd ever been in the studio. Dark skin, though not the same warm shade as Dorian's, closely cropped brown hair, and vivid green eyes. It was an interesting mix… striking, and not something Cullen wouldn't have easily forgotten.

“Well, I would say that I have one of those faces,” Cullen answered with a light chuckle as he took another draw from that cigarette. He'd feel guilty about it later, probably, but right now, he just needed _something_ to slow everything down. “but it's pretty clear that I'm not from around here. Either way, I'll be ok. I'm not exactly welcome here, and I may have just angered our _gracious_ hostess. So there's that.”

And there was bitterness in that tone. Bitterness and a little sadness knowing that Aquinea was like to give Dorian grief for it. Still, he couldn't bring himself to really regret it. There was only so much he could smile and nod through silently, and the way she talked about her son, like he was a sick child caught up in flights of fancy, had apparently been Cullen's limit.

_I'll apologize as soon as I see him. He'll understand._

\----

“Angered Aquinea?” Rilienus asked with a cocked eyebrow as he took back the pack and the lighter, “I... well, actually, that’s not too difficult. It’s probably safer to assume you’ve angered her than not, honestly.” He sighed and shook his head. As it was, he was only welcome off the backs of his parents and Talitha’s parents. He wouldn’t have even bothered to show if it weren’t for the fact that Dorian was supposedly back home.

He cleared his throat then, and took another drag, “My, uh... wife is off clucking with her friends,” Rilienus explained, “they can be a little much these days, so I tend to stay away from it.” Though he could only wonder what this stranger might have done to piss off Aquinea. The woman had a grudge streak a mile wide, but this man? Surely he’d never been to Tevinter before. And Maker take him, but he looked so familiar. Blond. Amber eyes. Lip Scar. Pale skin. Kind smile-

_Fuck._

The man. Dorian’s. The one he’d left for. The one he _stayed_ for. The one he’d turned down Rilienus’ offer for. It had to be. He’d only ever seen the one picture, but there was no way it was a coincidence that this man that looked so familiar from Ferelden would be there. It was impossible to be any other reason.

“You... are here for Halward and Aquinea?” he asked after a moment, “I didn’t know they had friends close enough to come visit down South.”

\----

Amber eyes cast back towards the door. Now that he’d calmed down a bit, he was antsy to get back in, find Dorian, and just _go._ That was arguably more important than small talk with this stranger. Definitely more important.

“Ah, I’m not here for _them_ ,” Cullen began and eyed the man warily. His attitude had shifted, just a bit into something a little more shifty, which left Cullen wondering what that meant. Though maybe that was just the way here. Or maybe the man was another of Aquinea and Halward’s traps. Who knew at this point what those two were capable of. Either way, it didn’t matter. Cullen was 100% positive that he and Dorian would soon leave this place behind… likely for good. “I’m here for my husband… much to their dismay, I might add.”

\----

Once he’d left Halward, Dorian was slightly at a loss for what to do. He’d stepped back into the party, saw all those people that he knew would be talking about him, and just... couldn’t. Almost blindly he’d made his way up the stairs to his old room. It was like a repeat of his entire adolescence: arguing with one of his parents then stalking off to his room. Maker help him, he hadn’t matured much, had he?

But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he and Cullen were going. He rifled through their clothes to get anything they’d need, but he didn’t even want to take them. Fuck it. He’d half a mind to destroy the room entirely, to throw a tantrum like a child, but he kept it in check. Instead he sat on the end of the bed and stared up at the walls. All those pictures, all those memories, and for what? What good came of them?

_It’s you, after all._

That had settled it, and Dorian pulled down a handful of the pictures he rather liked. Cullen had liked seeing them, after all, and he wanted to give Cullen that much. So he took what he could carry easily enough and left with the door shut firmly behind him. Nothing else mattered. Leaving, and getting on with their lives away from this, was what mattered to him. This place? Halward and Aquinea could go fuck themselves for all he cared.

Except Cullen wasn’t inside. He’d dodged his mother and father, ignored anyone who spoke to him, then made for the front door. Maybe... Maker, Dorian hoped that maybe Cullen had stepped out for some air. When he stepped outside and saw that familiar head of blond hair his heart sang and he practically ran up to his husband. He _needed_ Cullen after that. He needed someone who loved him for who he was and wanted him to just be the person he’d always been

As he came up, though, he only just heard the words of the person whoever Cullen was talking to. Dorian hadn’t even noticed. He didn’t care. Whoever it was didn’t matter.

“...Dorian?” asked a voice, and honestly he couldn’t tell who spoke. He didn’t really care to know either. It could have been Cullen, could have been the other man, but Dorian wound his arms around his husband and buried his face in against his neck.

\----

Oh sweet Maker, he'd never needed anything as badly as Cullen needed his husband in his arms in that moment. The reaction was pure and instinctual, like breathing. His cigarette was immediately discarded as he just engulfed Dorian with his arms, tucked his head into dark waves of hair and just took long, deep breaths. One arm was around Dorian's waist, pulling him in tighter as the other snaked up his back to bury fingers into silky hair. There was no way he could hold him tightly enough… but Cullen could try. And he did - he just breathed in and out, feeling every inch of Dorian pressed against him, every single heartbeat and just held on for dear life.

The man he'd been speaking with said something, it sounded like Dorian's name, but Cullen didn't care. The only thing that mattered was the man in his arms. “Thank the Maker,” he breathed, voice shaking and raspy, “I love you… _So_ much, I love you. Your mother… I said some things. I'm sorry, Dorian. I am. I made it worse, but Maker, I couldn't listen to it any more. I _couldn't._ ”

\----

Nothing else mattered. He had Cullen’s arms around him, his breath in his ear, and the feeling of his heart against his chest. It was Cullen, all around him and loving him, and that’s all Dorian wanted.

“Aquinea... Halward…” Dorian breathed in against his husband’s neck, “ _fuck_ them. Just fuck them. I never want to see either of them again.”

He pressed kisses to Cullen’s throat and squeezed him tightly. Maker, but he loved him so. “Can we go?” Dorian asked softly, “please?” He was practically pleading now, and he just wanted to go. He _needed_ to go.

Slowly, Dorian moved away and stepped back. Cullen looked so upset, and he shouldn’t have. That face shouldn’t have been like that; it was fucking heartbreaking. But it was only then that he turned to look at the man who’d been beside Cullen, the man who might have said his name. Grey eyes widened, and he squeezed Cullen’s hands so hard his knuckles began to lighten in color.

_Rilienus._

No. No, he couldn’t. Not this, and not now. Dorian shook his head. “Maker, I... I can’t do this. I fucking can’t do it.”

The man frowned, looked hurt, and Dorian felt his heart throb too. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with that now.

\----

“Hey,” Cullen said softly when he felt Dorian’s hands clamping down painfully on his own and heard the tremor in his voice. He leaned in a bit so he could look into those panicked eyes. Dorian was _hurting_. He was hurting so much, and Maker, Cullen hurt right along with him. His heart clenched to hear his husband’s voice like that. “You don’t have to any more. We can leave. We can be done with them. They don’t matter.”

\----

He nodded, and pressed kisses to Cullen’s hands. “Okay,” Dorian murmured shakily, then nodded again, “okay. We can go. We can... we can go.”

A slow breath then, and he turned to Rilienus, “I... I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I can’t.”

“Dorian-”

“Don’t, Rilienus, please. Not now.” Dorian half begged, “Please? Please.”

He stiffened, then held up a hand, “Fine. Go be with your... husband.”

\----

_Rilienus?_

That was a name from the past that Cullen could have gone his whole life without hearing again. For a moment, that odd feeling of being lost in time washed over him, dizzying, and an image of Dorian, angry and shouting as he paced the living room, filled his mind. Dorian’s voice was in his head then, sharp and icy, as the memory of that awful afternoon from before resurrected itself.

_He told me he loved me and that I should go back with him._

_That’s where I was last night: drunk, stupid, weak, easy, and half considering believing him._

_But he loved me once, apparently still does in whatever fucked up way, and I loved him once, too. He’s the only person who ever has._

_I’m… awful, and I know that. I’ve hurt you worse than you deserve, and I don’t deserve you staying and talking to me, but please don’t go. Not like this._

And then he heard his own voice echoing in his head.

_Please, just… let me go. I can’t._

_What you said… that he was the only one who ever wanted you… loved you. You were wrong._

_Goodbye, Dorian._

That afternoon long ago had been excruciating. What had happened after had been hard. The whole thing had sent shockwaves of doubt through him and crushed any confidence he’d built up. It had sent cracks along his foundation that were never repaired, even after they’d managed to scrape whatever remained back together and keep limping along.

But it had been another time - a time when Cullen was lost and barely keeping his head above water. Yeah, the memory was still _hard_ , but the reality? The reality was that he’d rebuilt his foundations, _with_ Dorian. The reality was that they’d built a damn good life together. The reality was that there was absolutely no question in his mind regarding his husband’s love.

The reality was that this man, this sad sack who had just been complaining about _his wife_ , was… a fool. A pitiful fool to have done what he did, to have treated Dorian like he was something to hide away in shame.

Cullen felt the color come back to his face as he realized that, somehow, he felt a little sorry for the man who had been the cause of so much shit all those years ago. He wrapped an arm around Dorian’s shoulders and hugged him in tightly as his thoughts turned to just getting his husband away from this poisonous place as soon as he could. “Thank you for understanding,” he said to the man standing there with a broken heart. Again, a wave of pity moved through Cullen, but it was Rilienus’ own fault, wasn’t it? His choices had led him down that path, just as Cullen’s had led him down his. “And for the cigarette. Good luck with your family, Rilienus.”

And that was it. After all that happened years ago, all the pain and anger Rilienus had kicked up in his wake, that was all Cullen had to say to him. It was a little funny how things worked out sometimes.

“Are you ready to go, love?” Cullen asked softly. “I think it’s about time to put this place behind us, don’t you?”

\----

Maybe he should have stayed and talked to Rilienus. Maybe. There were so many maybes, but there wasn’t enough of him left for maybes. Everything about this place, about things from before, it was poison. It was all fucking poison, and while he still did love Rilienus in his way... Maker, he couldn’t. The fact that he was there, at this thing, was the last fucking straw. Maybe Rilienus only wanted to talk, but Dorian couldn’t. Whatever it was, even if it was just to complain about his wife, he couldn’t do it. Not here and not now. Not anymore.

He was done. Completely done.

“I just want to go,” he breathed. He was so... weary. Tired. Absolutely exhausted. Dorian lifted a hand to wipe at his eyes, and he didn’t care how his eyeliner smudged and rubbed off a bit down his face. Everything hurt, inside and out, and he just wanted to not be there anymore. Maybe, even now after this long without it feeling like that, he didn’t want to be _Dorian Pavus_ for a while.

Even though he wasn’t, not anymore. He was _Dorian Pavus-Rutherford_. Still, there was that call to just sink down into a dark room and not exist for a while. It was what his battered mind needed. He needed it so much.

“Please, Cullen,” Dorian whimpered as he clutched at the pictures and what few other things he’d grabbed in his hand, “please, I just want to go.”

\----

_Maker, take his hand and give him strength._

Cullen sent that silent prayer up as he renewed his grip on Dorian's shoulder and smiled, even though his soul ached to see his husband, his whole world, curling into himself as the fire that always burned so brightly at the center of Dorian diminished. Of course, the thought occurred to Cullen that if the Maker truly shepherded his children, this sort of pain wouldn't exist, but that was a crisis of faith for another time. For now, he needed all the help he could get.

Still, that pleading tone, that broken voice woke something in him that commanded _protect, support_ and _he_ felt renewed. If Dorian couldn't stand, Cullen would stand for him. If Dorian was falling, Cullen was ready to carry him. Dorian had done as much for him before, many times, so he drew on the new spark of strength that helped him feel that heartbreak without breaking himself… he drew on it to do the things that must be done.

_Get him away. Help him heal. Give him space. Give him time._

“Of course. We're leaving right now,” he said as he encouraged Dorian to lean into him for whatever support he needed. Together, they made their way to the valet and called the car around. As they waited, Cullen drew Dorian back into his arms and pressed soft kisses into his hair and onto his forehead. Cullen loved him so much. Dorian deserved to be loved so much. Cullen prayed that Dorian could feel that, even a little, wherever his mind and heart had retreated to.

“Did your fa… Did _Halward_ hurt you?” he murmured in between kisses. Now, he understood why it was always “Aquinea and Halward” and never “mom and dad” or “mother and father.” Cullen vowed he'd never address them as such, either… if he even addressed them ever again. “No, you don't have to answer that. Of course he did. Dorian, I'm so sorry. I just… I want you to know that you are loved - and not just by me. Mom, Dad, Mia, Rosie, Bran, Felix, Allora, Sera, Dagna… we _all_ love you. Because you're you, and no other reason. You have people. You have a place.”

\----

“I don’t even want to repeat what he said,” Dorian answered, though he trailed his free hand along Cullen’s arm. He felt uncommonly numb, like his mind was trying to force out what had just happened into a box just so he could function. That was a blessing, probably, since replaying it in his head would only make it worse. The numbness wasn’t his favorite, though. It was like he was still drifting on a current of anger and hurt but couldn’t even feel it.

Maker, he hadn’t even _talked_ to Felix. He should have. He should have found him and told him what was going on, but a message would have to do. Later. Later, when he could breathe, and it didn’t feel like his head was full of cotton. The last time he felt this numb wa a long time ago, when he’d lay on the bathroom floor back in his rooms in Qarinus, and back then it had been just as disconcerting to feel. It was like he was watching himself from above, almost, like he wasn’t himself at all.

He took a breath, one that should have calmed him but he was already so unnaturally calm that it hurt his chest a little. It just... Dorian didn’t even know. Those kisses Cullen pressed against his skin were like ghosts, something he hardly felt, and he went quiet as he just stood there. There was nothing left to give, now, and he just didn’t want to _be_ anymore. That was the long and the short of it.

Whatever his mind was doing, whatever emergency shutdown that was happening, Dorian needed that. He needed Cullen close, enjoyed the fact that he was, but he couldn’t be there anymore. He just couldn’t. Maybe once they were away from there he could, but Dorian knew he was shutting down. While it was unfair, unfair to leave Cullen like that, there wasn’t much else that he could do.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian whispered, “I..” He shook his head, “we shouldn’t have come.”

\----

_Dissociation_.

That was the term Cole taught him all those years ago, the one that labelled how Cullen used to withdraw completely into himself and become numb to everything. It was a coping mechanism, Cole had said, one that wasn't _necessarily_ bad or unhealthy. Sometimes the mind just needed a break.

And after these past few days, after _tonight_ , Dorian's mind needed a break. It needed a fucking vacation.

But just because Cullen knew what he was seeing, just because he knew _why_ the light had gone out of Dorian's eyes and voice was small and dull… that didn't make it any easier to witness. Knowing a clinical term didn't make it hurt any less to see that normally lively, beautiful face grow still and blank.

But there was some comfort in knowing that Dorian _was_ somewhere in there, and wherever he was, he was resting. And maybe he could feel Cullen's arms around him and feel his warmth. That's all he could hope for right now, that his presence was felt and was somehow comforting. Because when it got like this, when it got this bad, only time to heal and gather strength helped.

“Don't worry about it, love,” Cullen murmured into dark waves of hair as he squeezed his eyes shut against the heat that was suddenly making them burn. “Let's just get you back so you can rest. You don't have to think about anything else - let me take care of you this once, ok?”

The car came around, finally, and Cullen got Dorian into the passenger side. Before he got into the driver’s seat, he paused to take a breath. Cullen's mind was battered and bruised, too, and he needed a moment to settle things. Dorian needed him _present,_ so he sent another prayer up before opening the door and buckling up.

_Maker, take us both in your arms. Give me the strength I need, and give him the peace he deserves. Help us find our way in this dark night. In your name._

\----

The drive back to the hotel happened in a blur, and before Dorian knew it, he was out of the car again and walking hand in hand with Cullen up to the room. Nothing felt real, not really, and he almost wanted to pinch himself to make sure he was actually awake and this wasn’t some nightmare. Everything - Halward and Aquinea, Rilienus standing there and looking so hurt, that party; it made him question whether or not he was actually living this and if it wasn’t some dream back at home. Nothing about it _felt_ real. Nothing except maybe Cullen’s warm hand in his own.

When they got back to the room, Dorian didn’t even get out of the clothes he wore and just moved to lie on the bed. He rolled onto his side, curled up so his knees were practically up against his chest, and just shut his eyes. The world felt loud. It felt loud and oppressive and heavy, and he wanted to be away from it. But he didn’t want to sleep. He just wanted to not exist for a while.

_Be who you’re supposed to be and you won’t have to fight anymore._

Maker, it was so hard. He’d been fighting for so long. _They’d_ been fighting for so long. Cullen had lived a nightmare, as had Dorian, and he wondered if maybe that were true. But what life would they live if they weren’t who they were ‘supposed’ to be? Weren’t they that? Weren’t they _finally_ who they were supposed to be? Hadn’t they _gotten_ there?

One hand inched out from where he’d wrapped one around his leg and the other was tucked up under the pillow. He let it rest on the edge of the bed and sighed, “Cullen?” Dorian asked in a small, dull voice, “would you come sit with me, maybe?”

\----

“Of course,” Cullen answered from where he was taking off those clothes Aquinea had dressed him in. He’d gotten out of the tie and shirt, but stopped when he heard Dorian’s voice. Dressed only in slacks, he took a few steps towards where his husband lay curled into himself on the bed. Maker, that was hard to see… but it was what he needed, and now he was calling for Cullen. Cullen would answer… always.

Still, he hesitated, unsure if anything he could say would make it through. Words were hard, still, especially now when he wasn’t sure if Dorian could hear anything he’d say, anyway. He wanted to do something, anything to help Dorian’s heart find peace. But what could he…

Amber eyes paused as they caught sight of his guitar case. He’d brought it on Dorian’s urging, but hadn’t thought about it since he’d leaned it in the corner by the closet on the first night they’d been there. Maybe now was the time… maybe a song would do what Cullen’s words couldn’t. There was still the chance that his voice still wouldn’t reach him, but Cullen wanted to try. He had to believe that Dorian would hear him from wherever his mind had retreated to, and even if nothing changed outwardly… maybe it would still help him heal in some small way.

So he took a quick detour on the way to the bed, opened his case and unclasped the metal pick he always wore from the chain around his neck. That pick was only for important moments. This was an important moment.

Guitar in hand, he padded softly to the bed and sat next to Dorian, one knee up on the mattress so he could face his husband. “I’m going to play something, I think, if that’s ok,” he said softly before strumming his guitar. It was well enough in tune, he didn’t want to spend any time fiddling with strings anyway, so he just started playing.

_Wait for all the broken pieces to fade_

_And lay your head upon my shoulder 'till you wake_

_And sleep through the stormy winter we'll escape_

_You know I will be here at the end of the day_

 

_You know you're never alone_

_When times are hard I'll hold you close_

_Let love heal you and I'll do the same_

_You know I will be here at the end of the day_

 

_Tears, falling down your cheek that can't be said_

_And fears, they're stealing from the selfness of your face_

_I will pray, we'll be turning corners out of this place_

_You know I will be here at the end of the day_

 

_You know you're never alone_

_When times are hard I'll hold you close_

_Let love heal you and I'll do the same_

_You know I will be here at the end of the day_

 

_The arms of love will pick you_

_Trap you up 'till you catch your breath_

_You catch your breath_

_Through the storm and reckless skies_

_Endless days and the sleepless nights_

_I'll be by your side_

 

_You know you're never alone_

_When times are hard I'll hold you close_

_Let love heal you and I'll do the same_

_You know I will be here at the end of the day_

 

He sang, low and gentle, only wavering near the end, despite the lump that formed in his throat almost as soon as he opened his mouth. By the time the song was finished, he knew he cheeks were wet, could feel the hot tracks left behind by the tears, but he’d kept going. Even if it was just background noise for whatever was going on in Dorian’s mind right now… well, that was fine.

\----

Truth be told, Dorian hadn’t expected Cullen to pull out the guitar. Maybe he should have, but when he’d asked for the man to come sit with him that hadn’t been the _first_ thing he’d thought about. That said, Dorian never minded when Cullen would sing for him. Right now he didn’t so much _hear_ it, but it was good to have something to focus on that wasn’t what was in his head or in his heart.

That voice washed over him, helped to soothe some of the maelstrom in his head that he was pushing back again, and he moved that hand out to touch Cullen’s leg. Some kind of connection was what he needed, and he closed his eyes again as he just listened. Somehow, the man always seemed to know what song to play, what would make him feel better, and the weird rigidity in him started to seep out of his bones and muscles so he could actually feel the mattress under him and the dip of Cullen’s weight beside him.

It was moments like this where Dorian was so sure that what they had was better than anything anyone could ever know about them. Sure, some people saw the laughter and happiness and light, but it wasn’t always that. Others, like Mia, had seen some of the darkness there too, but even she hadn’t seen the healing they’d had to do together. These moments, where Cullen would show him _everything_ , meant so much to him. It made him feel guilty that he couldn’t be stronger, but he also knew Cullen would never judge him for it.

When Cullen finished, Dorian looked up at him and managed a small smile. He knew his expression was still mostly blank, and some of this still didn’t feel real, but that song did pull him back to himself for a moment. That helped. He didn’t really _want_ to be inside himself at the moment, but the part of him that loved Cullen so much was made happier for it. Every chance he got to enjoy this kind of thing was a good one, and he squeezed his husband’s knee a little.

“I love you,” Dorian told him, “I’m sorry... I wish... I wasn’t this right now.”

\----

The hand on his knee, the small smile, his words, they were all signs that Dorian had _heard_ him, and that was enough. More than enough. Cullen returned that little smile and moved to put the guitar down before he leaned over to brush a few dark strands of hair back into place with gentle fingers. “I know,” he murmured and then shifted so he could lie next to his husband on the bed. He didn’t immediately pull Dorian in, though Maker knew he wanted to, but opted instead to just lie there and smooth his hand down one of his arms. The last thing he wanted to do was to completely overwhelm the man right now, but Cullen wanted to make sure that he was reaching him somehow, either with his voice or his touch.

“And don’t you apologize. You be whatever you need to be right now... and I’ll be right here, loving you all the same.”

\----

That touch did help, and Dorian closed his eyes again as he just let himself feel it. Slowly he was coming back to himself, and after a long moment, he rolled over so he could scoot in closer and rest his head on Cullen’s chest. That was good. Feeling the other man breathe and listening to his heart was a comfort. He was there, and they were both alright. That was good. It was better than it could have been, anyway.

One arm snaked out again and he curled his arm around Cullen’s middle. Like that, he felt protected. Right now, he needed that protection. Everything felt like it was so heavy and so _much_ , but with Cullen there he could almost make a bubble where nothing could touch them. It was a nice thought to entertain. So he did. Right there, where they were, nothing else could find them or hurt them. That was how it was. It would be alright.

“I told Halward I never wanted to see them again,” he murmured, “and I felt guilty. Maker, I’ll always feel guilty, but I _can’t_ do it anymore. I can’t. I’m done.”

\----

The way Dorian curled into him on his own was… well, even if the reason for it was heartbreaking, it was a good thing. A very good thing - all Cullen wanted to do was hold him close and let everything else fall away. And he guessed he could, or at least try, so he wrapped himself as much around Dorian as humanly possible and buried his face in that thick hair.

He nodded at Dorian's words. The guilt - he couldn't imagine it. The closest he could come was having to finally cut Samson from his life after rehab. He'd had to, of course, but Samson _had_ been important to him and cared about him in his way. But even that regret was nothing compared to what Dorian must be facing now.

“You were right to,” he finally replied, speaking softly into Dorian's hair. “They're… toxic people. I can't tell you not to feel guilty, but Maker, you _tried,_ and they didn't give you a choice.”

\----

Dorian nodded. He was tired. He was so, so tired. Everything hurt and he felt sick now that he had the time to think about it. Then again, they hadn’t eaten anything since that bit of tea before, and after everything... Dorian felt very empty. Physically and metaphorically. But he snuggled in closer and just sighed instead. Even if there was food to eat, he wasn’t sure he could. The thought of putting something in his stomach made him feel worse.

“Can I tell you something, though?” he asked, “it’s not... I mean, it’s not _stupid_ but against everything they said, it’s almost ridiculous that it meant so much. Even if it’s not. They would say it was, but you know what I mean. I’m rambling.”

He lifted his head and looked up at Cullen, “All I could think about was that they kept saying that I needed to be who I was ‘supposed’ to be and that kind of shit. Be _Dorian Pavus_ , right? But, you know, I’m _not_ that anymore. All I could think about was that I’m _Dorian Pavus-Rutherford_ and that they could stick everything else up their arses for all I cared.”

\----

Cullen's heart, aching as it was, swelled with pride because of Dorian's words. There were so many reasons for that pride - from just the fact that such a man had chosen him to the strength Dorian had summoned and spent to finally stand up for who he was. It had taken so much out of him, that much was clear, but he'd _done_ it.

“Sideways,” Cullen agreed with a hint of levity in his voice before he hugged Dorian closer. “Can I tell _you_ something now? I'm damn proud of you - you really are something else. Strong, even if you don't see it right now. And I love you, Dorian _Pavus-Rutherford_.” He sighed then, breathing in that scent that had always been a comfort to him before letting that breath back out. “They don't deserve you… and I may have said as much to your mother. But it's true, so I can't be sorry for it.”

\----

That made him smile, and Dorian buried his face in against Cullen’s chest for a long moment before he sighed again and lifted his head. This was what he needed after something like that. He needed that closeness and the support that only Cullen could give him. It was one of the reasons why he loved him so, and Dorian hugged himself closer before he shifted a bit to pillow his head on his arms on Cullen’s chest.

“You’re too good to me,” he mused softly, and tangled their legs together. That felt good, and it helped... something. Not everything, but he felt more grounded than he had half an hour ago. That was something. Of course a bottle of wine and lying down on the bathroom floor would have been his first plan, but curling up with his husband was much more enjoyable.

He smiled again then, something softer and warmer, and he licked his lips, “but I want to be good for you too. So... I do have that surprise for you, if you still want to know about it.”

\----

That smile was good to see, something more like Dorian, and Cullen felt something inside him release a bit. They were far from normal - he knew it would take a bit to get back there - but it was heartening. And infectious. A mirror of that smile crossed Cullen’s face, and he tilted his chin down to press a gentle kiss to Dorian’s forehead. “You know you’re good for me, you,” he breathed through that smile, “No surprises necessary… but since you’ve already gone through the trouble…”

\----

One hand moved out from where it was propping up his head, and Dorian cupped one of Cullen’s cheeks. He brushed his thumb along it, touched his cheekbone, and pressed his palm against warm, actually smooth skin. Maker, he loved this man so much. “I might have changed our flight home,” he answered, “we leave the day after tomorrow, early morning, so we can have a day to...you know, recover. But we’re not going home.”

Grey eyes searched amber ones, and Dorian tried to smile again, “Are you... angry?”

\----

“Angry?” Cullen laughed, “Maker, no. Far from it. I think we could do with something special after that, don’t you?” And they really could. Even if the something special was just a few nights of blissful peace spent on their couch, that would have been wonderful. But this? This was… well, Cullen didn’t really know just yet, but knowing Dorian, it would be perfect. The man was perfection, even when he wasn’t. Perfect for Cullen, anyway, and that was what counted. “And where will we be off to, if it’s ok for me to ask?”

Not that it mattered. Any place away from here where Dorian could breathe and recover, any place where he could just _be_ would be perfect.

\----

“So... you know there’s these places, nice houses and that kind of thing, and people put them up so you can stay in them. It’s like vacation houses or whatever, probably, and I found... I found one that was perfect. It’s part of a little group of chalet houses, I think. The place is called Haven, and the pictures were... fucking gorgeous. Place has a huge tub with the jets, porch swing, big fire place, all that kind of thing.”

Dorian took his time in explaining, really let himself draw it out so he could watch Cullen’s face. It was going to be so much better than this. So, so much better. That said, they had a day to recover. They could stay in the room, relax, and just... not be anything more than themselves. No hiding, no nothing. Just be _together_.

He did lean up and kiss Cullen’s lips just gently, “I figured you’d want to be somewhere cooler than here for a while, so... mountains.”

\----

Immediately, visions of playing for Dorian in front of a fire and hot chocolate with blankets out on the swing came to mind. Quiet. Alone. Relaxing. Just what the both of them needed, in all honesty. Leave it to Dorian to just _know._ And the fact that he set all this up for them when he was suffering so much himself… Cullen just felt very blessed in this moment. Despite the horrible week and the heaviness of the evening, he was, truly.

“That's… just perfect,” Cullen sighed, “Just you and me and nothing else. Perfect.” He tilted his head down to return that kiss. “Just when I think I can't love you any more…”

\----

The fact that he’d chosen correctly did make something in his heart feel better. It was easier to focus on that, think on how the next week would be so good, instead of thinking back on tonight. Dorian would have rathered forget everything about tonight, if he were honest with himself, and seeing his husband smile helped to push those thoughts away. He’d have to deal with them eventually, he knew that, but not now. Not for a while. Not until he was ready.

“A trip makes you love me more?” he asked, and it was genuinely a bit of a surprise when he heard humor in his own voice. That, Dorian had expected, would be off for a while yet. Clearly not when he had Cullen’s handsome face smiling at him like that. “I just…” he voice trailed off, and he moved his hand back so he could pillow his head on his arms.

_Wanted to be away for a while. Alone. Where no one could find us._

Dorian sighed, “I wanted to do something nice for our anniversary. Not this. Nothing like this ever again.”

\----

Amber eyes blinked once and then again as Cullen smiled. “No, the _trip_ doesn't make me love you more, nice though it is… it's more because… well, being here has been awful for you, right? And you could have used your time to focus on _you_ … resting, whatever you needed. But you used some of it to focus on _us_. That's… important. Special. The way you always surprise me… the way you're so incredibly thoughtful… that's what makes me love you more. Every time.” Cullen paused and let his thumb stroke over the smooth skin of Dorian's cheek. “And we never have to come back here again. Ever.”

\----

No, they really didn’t. Not until Felix and Allora married, but they’d already talked about that. They wouldn’t come here for Halward or Aquinea again. Full stop. They could, however, possibly come back should Dorian want a holiday somewhere warm. That said, Dorian wouldn’t stay in Minrathous. Or Qarinus. They’d go somewhere nice, and that was the end of it.

“I can’t think of a better way to spend a year together,” he offered gently, “though isn’t it some Orlesian tradition to keep part of the wedding cake and eat it on the first anniversary? So we may need to find... I don’t know, something sweet to make up for the fact.”

\----

“Aren't I sweet enough?” Cullen chuckled before his brows furrowed in thought. “But our anniversary isn't for…” and his eyes widened as he realized. With all this worry and stress over Aquinea and Halward, it had just slipped his mind. Their anniversary, the first they'd share as husbands… it was only a few days away. Cullen had plans - the day was so very important, after all - but all this had pushed them to the absolute back of his mind. “Maker, it's just around the corner, isn't it? In all this, I'd… Dorian, I'm sorry - I have something for you, but it's back home,” his lips curled slightly into an apologetic smile, “And here _you_ are, planning a surprise trip in the middle of everything. I'm a terrible husband.”

That last bit was an attempt at humor, but Cullen did still feel a little guilty. Or rather a lot guilty that it had so thoroughly dropped off his radar.

\----

“You are not,” he replied with another small smile, “and you know you’re not. It’s not like we planned all this shit to happen so close to the day, after all.” Dorian brushed his thumb along Cullen’s sternum for a moment then, and tipped his chin down to kiss soft, freckles skin covered in a dusting of delicate blond curls, “I hadn’t... I mean, I didn’t know what to get you, so I hope the trip is enough? Maker knows we have enough appliances and towels to last until _next_ year. I just figured something nice and quiet would be better than trying to make a big thing out of it.”

\----

“It's more than enough,” Cullen replied, still smiling for the way Dorian's mustache tickled when he kissed him. “You know, it's going to sound cheesy or like a hopelessly romantic line, but it's the truth… I can't think of a better gift than just spending time together, away from everything.”

And he couldn't. Especially after everything that had happened over the past few days, but even if none of it had ever happened, he'd still be over the moon. As it was, they'd get time together _and_ Dorian could find his footing before jumping back into… well, life.

\----

Maker’s breath, but Cullen was so right. A week away, actually away, was exactly what they needed. The fact that the house was beautiful only sweetened the deal. If he was going to relax after something like all this, it might as well be in fabulous accommodations. To say the least.

“I just want some time with you,” Dorian told him, “no work, no... nothing. Just us.” Now that he said it out loud it felt like a bit of that weight lifted off of him, and Dorian sighed as he pulled himself to sit up so he could start getting out of those uncomfortable clothes. A shower would have been better, but peeling off the shirt and pants so he was in nothing but a tank top and his underwear was enough.

Once he was more comfortable he all but flopped back down on the bed so he could nuzzle in against the side of Cullen’s chest, “I could sleep for three days,” he grumbled, though it was muffled for his his lips brushed against his husband’s ribs, “my head still feels like it’s full of cotton, a little bit.”

\----

With Dorian settled back in against him, Cullen took a deep breath and wrapped his husband back up in his arms. Things were still settling, would be for a while, but the closeness and the warmth, he knew, helped. The back and forth about the upcoming trip and their anniversary helped. It would just… take time. When Dorian was ready, he'd talk about it all. Cullen wasn't about to push him - this wasn't either of them keeping anything back or hiding feelings. It was the need to have space to breathe, to process. That was ok. That was healthy.

And truth be told, Cullen also needed some time to recover. Aquinea had struck a few nerves with her ranting. Even if he'd reacted calmly enough in the end, she'd had him everywhere from doubting his abilities to support his husband to fuming mad. This whole thing had brought him closer to the past than he'd like to admit… but he would. Eventually, he would tell Dorian how close everything had seemed. Not to make the man feel guilty, not at all. He would tell him because Dorian was his best friend as well as his husband, because he was the one person who understood Cullen the best in all the world. Not telling Dorian would feel like a lie, a betrayal of the promise they'd made and remade to one another over the years.

Neither of them would ever have to suffer alone again.

But that talk would come later when things weren't so raw and painful. Maybe when they were safely bundled up together on a crisp mountain evening during their retreat. Maybe later. Either way, Cullen knew they were both strong enough now to handle it when it came.

He was still lying there in the pants he'd worn to that “party,” but he was loathe to upset the comfort they'd found together, and he could feel the weight of sleep drawing him down anyway. One hand reached to cradle Dorian's head, fingernails lightly scratching his husband's scalp before it settled. Scarred lips pressed a kiss into that silky hair and he murmured, “Then sleep, love. I'll be here when you wake up. I'll always be here when you wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced is "Song for a Friend" by Andreya Triana. Find it on Spotify, here: https://open.spotify.com/track/52xQMyCABMvx7nSoPZXeSV


	5. Harmony [1 of 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian and Cullen begin their anniversary getaway, but unease from their time in Tevinter lingers.

Logically, Cullen knew there were times in his life that were happier and full of more relief than this moment, but when the plane taking them away from the Imperium took off, for the space of a heartbeat, he truly couldn't think of any. The past week had been… well, fucking terrible - there wasn't any other way to say it. Personally, yes, Cullen had made it through hard times. He'd disappeared for a week once, and that was also an awful, horrible time that had repercussions he could sometimes still feel, but that had been _him_. To see his husband, his _heart_ , suffer through everything from terror to anger to _numbness_ … it was somehow worse, more heartbreaking, harder.

But Dorian had survived it. He'd had the courage to go to that party, had the courage to face his father and apparently tell the man he didn't want him in his life. He'd done it, but Maker, it took _so much_ out of him. So much that it took a long while for the light to come back into his eyes, and they'd spent much of the day before curled up in bed and just being together. Quietly, slowly, they took their time with everything. After the night they'd had… it was what they _both_ needed. They didn't _talk_ about it, not yet. Cullen knew that would come, but in its own time, when Dorian wasn't so raw and bleeding and Cullen wasn't so shaken.

So, yes, when everything was said and done, Cullen was overjoyed when those wheels left the tarmac and they were on their way back to Ferelden. With each mile, he felt lighter, more normal. Dorian, too, seemed to brighten as they flew. He was still hurting, but he was _there_. It wasn't anything Cullen could pinpoint, maybe it was the way the man's grip loosened on his hand or the way his breathing evened out, but Cullen could feel it. He could feel his husband returning to himself, and that was… so much relief. So wonderful. Dorian was wonderful… he didn't deserve any of this pain, and Cullen breathed a prayer of thanks when he felt that return.

So, another flight, another car, another destination, but this one was infinitely more enjoyable. It was ridiculous to even compare, and Cullen smiled when he finished loading the car with their luggage and his guitar. He stood up straight and sucked in a lungful of cold mountain air, exhaling slowly and just savoring air that wasn't oppressive with heat and humidity. The sun was shining, the breeze was crisp and clean… it was one of those days that would make anyone just happy to be alive.

In the car and buckled in, Dorian punched the address into the GPS before Cullen leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Have I told you lately that I love you? Because I do. A lot. This is going to be a good week.”

\----

Every mile put between Dorian and the Imperium was just another bit of weight lifted off him. He’d spent so much of that time in an anxiety induced fog that he hardly realized just how heavy he felt. Now that it was lifting, he could appreciate it and the moment they touched back down in Ferelden, Dorian finally felt... better. Not great, but better. It wasn’t home, _their_ home, but it was good. Dorian did miss the warmth in the air, which he hadn’t really had the time or head space to appreciate, but this was... this was good. Being far away again cleared his mind, and for the first time in a week, he felt _right_.

It had only been a week, but it felt like Ages had passed. Dorian almost felt like a different person. Telling Halward where he could stick it had changed him, changed him in a way he hadn’t anticipated, but it wasn’t the worst feeling ever. Maybe now he could try to move on. Of course he’d always said he never wanted anything to do with his parents again, but this time it was for real. It was freeing in a way.

He was enjoying that feeling as they got settled into the car, and then Cullen kissed his cheek and Dorian stirred from his thoughts. Grey eyes cast a glance over, and he smiled for a moment before he turned and brushed his nose against Cullen’s for a moment, then he kissed him back, “I hope so,” Dorian told him, “the place looked amazing, and I think it’ll be nice to just have a week with no work, no... nothing. Just us.”

Like usual, Dorian reached out a hand to rest it on Cullen’s thigh as he drove. They still had a bit of a drive to get there, but they were back where they belonged, and that’s all that mattered to Dorian.

\----

Two hours time and one stop at a small grocery store for roughly a week’s worth of food plus more snacks than was strictly prudent, and Cullen found himself pulling onto a narrow, twisting mountain road to the cabin. Cullen hadn’t seen any of the photos yet, that much was still a surprise - and what a surprise. The cabin was a cabin only in the loosest of terms - two storeys with a wrap-around deck and clean lines; it was all beautiful red wood and windows to let the mountain sunrise and sunsets take center stage. And the location - tucked into the woods and private with a stream bubbling nearby… it could have been a postcard. In fact, Cullen wasn’t entirely sure that it _hadn’t_ been a picture on a postcard in the little spinning rack at the store they stopped off in at the base of the mountain. Either way it was… perfect.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen breathed as he stopped the car and pulled the emergency brake up, “You weren’t kidding… this is amazing, love!”

\----

This place, the place he’d booked for them, had been about as picturesque and Fereldan as Dorian could find. He’d been looking at this place for a while, a couple of months, and now they had the chance to enjoy it. As he took in a deep breath of the cold air, Dorian felt a few more of the leftover nerves leave him, and he sighed happily as he looked over at Cullen.

“Only the best for you,” Dorian told him, and leaned over for a kiss before he opened the door. They’d stopped on the way in, at the gatehouse to Haven for the key to the house, and now they just needed to... move in. Move in for the week. That was what they were there for, and Dorian couldn’t be happier. Some time with Cullen, just Cullen with no distractions.

Thankfully they didn’t have too many bags, and the trek up to the huge porch and front doors was relatively easy. The place was just so... nice and calming. Perfect, really. Already it soothed Dorian’s aching soul a little, and as he opened the door to the place he leaned back against it and smiled, “Your holiday home, sir?” he teased.

\----

“A guy could get used to this treatment,” Cullen grinned and winked at Dorian as he moved past him into the cabin. The inside was just as amazing as the outside, and Cullen took a moment, bags in hand, to just take in the bright, open space. The great room was the height of both storeys, windows making up the majority of the main wall, so all that beauty outdoors came right on in. It really was breathtaking, and Cullen immediately amended his list of must haves for the theoretical house hunt they’d tentatively fantasized about to include tons of natural lighting. Everything about it was refreshing. Cleansing. Serene. Just the thing, really, to help them recenter and refocus after what they’d just been through. “Wow,” he breathed, truly impressed, “How did you even find this place? It’s perfect.”

\----

Dorian was getting the bags set down, and he smiled over at Cullen. Watching him so happy to be there was one of the best things, and he shifted the arm full of grocery bags he held so he could come up and kiss his husband’s cheek, “Amazing what an internet search will do,” he teased, “but I’m glad you like it. I looked at a few places, but this one was the best.”

It was, too. The centerpiece of the living area was a huge fireplace that was just begging to be lit, and Dorian knew if they went upstairs to the master bedroom there would be a tub big enough for two waiting for them. Those were some of the draws, yes, but so was the view and the quiet. They would be able to just spend time together, and that’s all Dorian cared about. Okay, so maybe also the huge fire and the promise of a bubble bath. And also the promise of having fun and making dinner together in that huge kitchen. Everything was what Dorian cared about, but mostly Cullen. Always Cullen first.

“Help me with these groceries, will you?” he asked, “then I think we can get a fire going and make some coffee?”

\----

“Sorry,” Cullen laughed with a sheepish smile, “It's just… wow. Again… It's worth two ‘wow’s, don't you think?” He spared one last look at the mountain range - the sun was starting to set, and the mountains were on fire with hues of red and gold, so how could he _not_ \- before hauling the bags he carried into the kitchen. Their groceries were put away in short order, and while Cullen burned to go poking around the rest of the house, his need to just sit with Dorian and a cup of coffee and relax as that sun set far outweighed his curiosity. They had all week to enjoy the house… right now, he wanted to enjoy peace with his husband.

While Dorian made coffee for them - likely making a face at all the sugar and milk Cullen took, but making it perfectly all the same - Cullen took a look at that fireplace. “You know,” he called over his shoulder towards the kitchen, “I haven't started a fire in a fireplace since I was a teenager. Pretty sure I've still got it, though. Unless… is it a gas or electric fireplace, or some such nonsense? Should I be looking for a remote?”

\----

It was so nice to just _be there_. The house was beautiful, Dorian knew it would be but it was just so wonderful to be somewhere with Cullen that was quiet and they could just do their own thing. Even if ‘their own thing’ was just putting groceries away and making coffee, it was for _them_ and that’s what mattered. He hummed softly as he fixed their drinks: poured milk and sugar in, and smiled over his shoulder and just watched Cullen.

This was the type of place Cullen should have. He should have something big and nice like this so he could spread out and not feel so confined like their flat made him feel sometimes. Maybe one day. That would be nice. They’d have to talk about it, for sure.

“I think it’s the regular kind,” Dorian answered as he brought the mugs over, “I didn’t read anything about gas or electric.” And there was a pile of logs already stacked, so that had to be more than just decoration, right?

\----

It took a bit of doing - and a starter log that made Cullen pull a face to use, though Maker knew it was faster - but before too long, there was a fire going in that massive fireplace, popping and crackling away. Cozy. And Cullen intended to get cozier as he took his place next to Dorian on the couch. All at once, it seemed that everything keeping him going for the past week flowed out of him through his feet. Heavy. He felt heavy and boneless now that he could finally stop to breathe, and amber eyes closed shut as Cullen's head rolled back against the cushion and his hand rested on Dorian's thigh. He tilted his head to the side and popped one eye open, focused on his husband's face. “Maker, I could sleep for three days. No… four. How about you?”

\----

How he wanted to sleep. Dorian wanted to close his eyes and sleep and try to think that the last week was a terrible nightmare. Maybe it was. He could pretend it was. He wanted it to be. Maker help him, but he was so tired. He was tired, but sleeping would take away from their time there.

“I don’t even know,” he sighed, and lifted a hand to rub at his face. He hadn’t really slept much since the party, even though he was tired, and when he did doze all he could see was Halward’s face and Aquinea’s harsh gaze. It was fucking _haunting_. Dorian hadn’t had those nightmares in a long time, and really had hoped to never have them again.

Slowly, he reached out to put his coffee on the table beside the couch before he moved to lie down with his head in Cullen’s lap. His husband was his comfort, his support, and he still needed it. Dorian felt better, better than he had the day before, but he still wasn’t _normal_ yet. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be for a while.

“Will you rub my head for a while?” Dorian asked softly, “just for a little while?”

\----

As Dorian settled his head into Cullen’s lap, one large hand was already moving to run fingers through that silky, dark hair, and Cullen had to chuckle softly at the request. “My pleasure, actually,” he replied as he first carded his hand through Dorian’s hair and then began to scratch lightly at his scalp. Despite how tired Cullen was, he wanted Dorian to unwind, to rest and find his footing, wanted it almost desperately. Here in this place, with the scenic view and the cozy fire, he hoped that could happen. He had to believe that could happen. If anyone needed solace for the soul right now, not to mention a good night’s sleep, it was Dorian. “Maybe you can get some good sleep here, now that we’re… away,” Cullen ventured after a while, his voice low and, he hoped, soothing. His fingers never stopped working, but they shifted from scratching to a gentle massage while his other hand rested on Dorian’s chest, over his heart.

\----

“Maybe,” he replied, and turned to bury his nose in at Cullen’s thigh. Those fingers in his hair did help, and Dorian was thankful for them, but it still felt a bit like he couldn’t relax. Logically, he knew they were far away from Halward and Aquinea. He knew that. It was hard not to feel like they were right there, though, whenever he closed his eyes.

One hand moved to tuck up under Cullen’s leg, and Dorian closed his eyes. Sleep would have been wonderful, but it still felt like he was too amped up to completely calm down. His mind felt like it couldn’t quiet down, but was also so... slow. He couldn’t really focus, not beyond a normal conversation anyway.

“I’m glad you like this place,” Dorian mumbled sleepily. He was just enjoying the feeling of Cullen’s hand in his hair. It was just enough of something for his mind to focus on, which he liked, but the quiet made him feel uncomfortable. Even with the crackling of the fire and the sound of Cullen breathing, the quiet still felt far too heavy. “I was thinking this would be the exact opposite of... well, my parent’s house,” he went on. That place wasn’t _home_. It never had been, never would be.

\----

Well, and that it was. This place was open and spacious and _comfortable_ , where that house in Tevinter had been none of those things. But, really, they could be in a one-room shack in the Hinterlands, and it would still be more comfortable than the house they’d all but run from a few nights ago. All it took was the distinct lack of Aquinea or Halward for nearly any place in Thedas to be an improvement. But this place was… magnificent, and part of Cullen flared with a dull anger at Dorian’s parents that their influence was felt even here, even when it was supposed to be just the two of them celebrating their first year together.

But stronger than that low sense of frustration was Cullen’s love for the man resting in his lap - his husband, regardless of who recognized it. He leaned over and kissed Dorian’s shoulder before resting his cheek there, one arm draped over him to squeeze him close. “I do… I love it,” he murmured, “It’s amazing, but the very best part is that it’s just you and just me. And we don’t even have to _think_ about them here… but if you _want to_ … to talk, you know you can. I’m here, love. Whenever.”

And Cullen would want to talk, too, eventually. Aquinea had found his weaknesses with surgical precision in that house, and it left him reeling. At some point soon, he’d want to share that with _his_ support, like he shared everything else… but not until Dorian was ready. Not until he could square with whatever demons the past week had kicked up.

\----

Maybe he should have talked. Maybe he should do more than lie there and try to forget. At least he wasn’t drinking, though. That was something. Dorian wanted to be, though. He wished that coffee had something stronger in it so his head could go nice and fuzzy and maybe he could sleep. It would slow his thoughts. If he talked his thoughts would speed up again and Dorian didn’t really feel like dealing with that.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he answered immediately. The hand under Cullen’s leg squeezed a bit and Dorian focused his gaze on the fire. The last thing he wanted to do was try to explain what Halward had tried, what he’d said, and how Dorian still felt that guilty urge to lie down and take it. It was both the easiest thing and the hardest thing in the world to walk away from there, and he still felt like he’d betrayed his family. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. It did and it made him ache just like the fact that Cullen had to see it all made him ache.

It made him so tired, but he couldn’t sleep.

“I just want to stay like this for a while.”

\----

Ah, so Dorian wasn't ready for that conversation. The immediacy in his answer, his tone… they told Cullen he wouldn't be ready for a while. That was ok. It was. The offer was out there, and Dorian would take it when he needed to. Not that Cullen had needed to offer - he was sure that Dorian knew by now he could open up to Cullen about anything - but this time, he'd felt it important to say the words. And, while Cullen had become accustomed to sharing hurts before they grew too large to be let out, he could wait. It had only been two days. Well, it hadn't even been two days yet, really. He could wait until the very idea of talking didn't make the man he loved tense like a coiled spring with anxiety and dread.

“Sure,” Cullen answered and pressed another kiss to Dorian’s shoulder before he sat up again and leaned his head against the back of the couch. Rough fingers still trailed through Dorian’s hair, and his other hand came to a rest on Dorian’s waist. His movements were smooth, fluid, but he felt… he felt a little choked with an odd, unsettled feeling, and he was glad his husband couldn’t see his face in that moment, painted as it must have been with a confusing mix of love and sadness for the hurt still apparent in Dorian’s posture and voice… and, well, there was a bit of Cullen’s own pain there, too. But it was too soon to drag all that out into the light. It wasn’t safe. He could wait. He would wait.

_There's a fine line between justified caution and frozen in fear._

A voice from Cullen’s past spoke up, bringing with it the image of a pair of piercing blue eyes under a mop of white-blond hair. Cole. Those were Cole’s words to him, ones he’d taken to heart.

_We’re not frozen. We’re healing so we can move forward._

And that was the truth of it, Cullen could feel that much in his bones. The truth, for now.

“I love this view,” Cullen commented, as lightly as he could while he turned his head and cast his eyes out of those huge windows. Maybe… maybe a little distraction was in order. “Imagine waking up to that every morning… beautiful.”

\----

“Saying you want a cabin on a mountain?” Dorian asked. His tone was still sleepy, but he was grateful for the change in subject. This was easier for now. In time he’d want to talk, though he didn’t know how long it would take to get there, but not now. Now he wanted the distraction of a conversation that wasn’t heavy. It was one they had on occasion, but seemed more important now.

He smiled for the thought of it: a big house in seclusion, large rooms to fill with art and pictures of them. It would be wonderful. Maybe a bit lonely, but still wonderful. Right now seclusion sounded amazing. Not practical at all with their jobs, but amazing regardless. “Maybe we should rethink looking in the suburbs, then?” he went on, and rolled over a bi to look up at Cullen, “if that’s... you know, something you still want to do. We could start looking more seriously.”

\----

The idea _looking for a home_ had been just that - an idea. Something toyed around with here and there, a few theoretical discussions, usually sparked by watching those infuriatingly addictive shows where the buyers had more “must haves” than budget… or sense. It was something they'd been dancing around, but no real plans had taken root. Here, though… looking more seriously… it felt like maybe plans, real plans, could be at least discussed.

And that was enough to pull Cullen out of the funk of worry and unease he'd fallen into. All the bad… that could be let out in time. This… making a home with Dorian that was truly theirs… that was too good, and a grin spread across Cullen's face. “Well, there is an order to these things, you know. Meet. Fall in love. Get married. Get a house,” he paused for a moment, still smiling as he tapped the tip of Dorian's nose with one finger, “Get a dog…”

\----

That made him cock an eyebrow. Of course, though. Fereldans and their dogs. Really, Dorian should have expected as much. Their flat wasn’t big enough for one, at least not one that wasn’t small enough to be carried in a handbag, and while Dorian was fine with that he knew Cullen longed for something with a yard and a canine companion that would inevitably dig up any decent landscaping they’d have done. Still, to see Cullen’s face light up was a wonderful sight.

“I suppose there’s no talking you out of that, is there?” he deadpanned before he tipped his head back just enough to nip at Cullen’s fingertip, “no appealing to my good wardrobe, nice furniture, or getting up at three in the morning to take it out for a bathroom run?”

\----

“Nope,” Cullen said with a stubborn edge to his voice. He tilted his head up and set his jaw, but there was still a teasing smile turning the corners of his mouth up. “Far as I'm concerned, it's a done deal. A house with a nice big yard, maybe with woods around… oh, or a creek nearby… it kind of demands a dog, right?”

Since he was a boy, there'd always been a dog at his side… well, until his life had taken him down roads that made it impractical. For the longest, he could barely care for himself, let alone take proper care of a pet. But now that his world was right… he wanted it all. And he was most of the way there - a job that made him happy, financial security, and, most importantly, Dorian. His husband. A true partner. Someone Cullen managed to love more and more every day. The house, the dog - those would be icing on the proverbial cake. And, maybe he was being selfish somehow since his life was already so, so good… but still, he wanted them.

But not if Dorian truly didn't. The house was an easy sell… but the dog? That might be harder.

“I fully intend to be the puppy wrangler,” he went on, a little more seriously, “Training and cleaning and midnight walks… all that. But… you know, if you _really_ can't stand the idea…” The sentiment was serious, but Cullen may have laid that last line on a little thick, complete with wide, sad eyes and a mournful tone.

\----

Oh, Maker help him. Dorian had trademarked that look, used it on occasion, but it seemed that Cullen had learned well. And he couldn’t deny him anything with that face and those eyes and that voice. He sighed, rolled his eyes, but a warm smile spread across his features, “Don’t,” he tutted playfully and sat up just a little to kiss those scarred lips for a long moment, “I can’t take your puppy dog eyes.”

One hand curled at the nape of Cullen’s neck, and he kissed him again before he rested his forehead against his husband’s, “A dog,” he agreed, “but a house first. Deal?”

\----

Scarred lips chased Dorian’s back for another kiss, sweet and born from happiness, and, for the first time in a week, not at all colored by that bad business back in Tevinter. They were getting there, slowly but surely finding _normal_ again. Normal might not be where it was before, and would eventually include a house and a four-legged family member, but they'd make it. They always had.

And that was the beauty of what they were - their strength and what had held them together despite all the odds. Love. Respect. Support. Honesty, even when it was hard. Sacrifice, compromise, and just plain stubborn determination. All of that had gotten them to this point. All of that would see them through.

And also a dog. A dog always helped.

Cullen grinned, a little sheepish for his obvious ploy to tug at Dorian's heartstrings, and tilted his head up to kiss the curved bridge of his husband's nose before resting his forehead back against Dorian's. “I'll hold you to it,” he sighed happily. “Maker, we're actually going to do it… get a house. Find a home. I can't wait… but will you be happy out of the city?”

\----

He nodded, “I’ll be happy wherever we make a home, you know that,” and nosed for another kiss, “and a bit of a drive is fine, and there’s always a train if the traffic is too much. We’ll make it work.” Dorian believed they would, too. They both worked in the city, knew that their schedules would play a role in finding a place, and that was good enough for him. It would be different, since he’d swore since he was a child that he’d never have the white picket fence in the suburbs, but that had been _before_.

Now? So long as it wasn’t completely out in the middle of nowhere, he could probably deal with it. Besides, there was something to be said about being away from all the noise and stress. It would be quaint, he knew that much, and while it would definitely be an adjustment it was one he was willing to make. For them. So they could be happy together.

“I love you,” Dorian breathed, “every last wonderful, sweet, mongrel-loving inch of you.”

\----

“Well, that's perfect,” Cullen chuckled softly, “Because every ‘wonderful, sweet, mongrel-loving inch’ of me loves you.” He pulled back slightly, just so he could meet Dorian's gaze, features soft and eyes warm with affection. “Every single piece of you. It's been a good year… longer than that, really, and better than good, but you know what I mean.” He paused then, and took a breath. What had happened in Tevinter had him thinking of his past, their past, more than usual. It had shaken him, brought back some of those old worries, but it had also underlined just how precious what they had really was. “When I think of how we started and everything that happened… well, I thank to Maker for you, and that we’re here now, talking about a house and a dog and… just… it wasn't always happy, I know, but Maker damn it if it isn't happy now… if it won't be happy for the rest of our lives.”

\----

“It will be,” Dorian promised, “happy. Forever.” He tangled his fingers in the curls at the back of Cullen’s head and smiled. That look on Cullen’s face made Dorian’s heart swell, and for a moment everything that wasn’t them in this moment didn’t exist. There was nothing beyond them, in this place, and planning their future. Nothing else mattered.

He lifted his other hand and cupped Cullen’s cheeks with both hands, brushed his thumbs along his cheekbones, then smiled. Dorian’s heart was so full he felt like it might burst open. That happened so often, more often than he might have thought once they got married, but every moment they spent together seemed to be the best one. Even now, tired and upset as he still felt, he was at peace. Cullen had done that.

“Amatus,” he all but cooed as his fingers traced Cullen’s scruffy jaw, “don’t ever worry about it not being happy. _This_ is happy. It’ll always be happy. Even when it’s not.”

\----

Even after three or so years since Cullen had first heard that word - _amatus_ \- he still felt warmth spreading as his heart skipped a beat and his toes curled whenever Dorian used it. It always brought with it memories of a day that had been intensely uncomfortable… uncomfortable but _necessary_ … but with all the hard things they hashed out that day, it had led with _amatus_ and Dorian's honest and open explanation of what it meant to him. That had carried Cullen through the rest of that first evening together after rehab, heartbreaking as it had been to have all of Dorian's pain laid bare and knowing that Cullen had caused every bit of it. Along with the gentle touches that never stopped despite the anger and sadness rolling out of Dorian that night, the fact that he'd chosen Cullen as his _amatus_ … it was and would forever be amazing. A blessing.

In the routine and flurry of day to day life, Cullen still hadn't lost sight of that, easy as it would have been to do. He never lost sight of the fact that the man who he now proudly called husband had saved him, in every way.

“Even when it's not,” Cullen agreed softly as his fingers gently worked their way through thick dark hair, smoothing it back into place where it had been mussed by the massage earlier. Those words… they seemed like a contradiction, but Cullen understood completely what Dorian meant. No matter what life threw at them, be it horrible parents or the inevitable stress of finding a home fit for both of them, what they had, what they were, was solid as a rock. The foundation they'd rebuilt together was wide and strong. Nothing would ever shake Cullen's belief in them.

“Maker help me, but you're beautiful. All of you,” Cullen murmured, tone breathy with a bit of reverence and multitudes of love. “Here,” he said as he stroked a thumb down Dorian's jaw, “but most especially here,” he continued, placing that same large hand over Dorian's heart as he leaned in for for another kiss. In a lifetime, he'd never get enough of those kisses. Never. “Happy anniversary, love. It's not the day of, but it has to be said. My life is better, brighter because of you. No matter what.”

\----

All of this, this love and sweetness in front of the roaring fire, helped to burn away some of that fog that had covered Dorian’s brain. His parents were far away. Tevinter was far away. They were there and happy and making plans, and there wasn’t any room for anything more than that. That handsome face filled Dorian’s vision and he couldn’t see anything but Cullen’s beautiful, kind face and how happy he looked. That was the most important thing.

“Happy anniversary,” he replied shakily. There was so much weighing on him, happy weight for now, and it made his voice shake. Those kisses made his voice shake too, and Dorian just kissed Cullen for as long as he could. There would never be enough of those. In his life there would never be enough kisses.

His hands moved to pet through Cullen’s hair, and Dorian just smiled as he looked up at him, “You are... the best part of me,” Dorian breathed, “and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

\----

Dorian's best part? Hardly, but Cullen knew better than to argue. Indeed, he felt like Dorian was the best part of _him_. The very best, with the kindness he'd tried to hide and his heart that spoke to Cullen and his bright eyes that crinkled at the edges when his face lit with a smile. Dorian was the best... and he deserved nothing less than that in his life. Cullen would do all he could to bring him that goodness… and protect him from the bad.

Except Cullen hadn't protected him from the bad that they'd just put behind them. That much had been outside of his power. All he’d been able to do was just be there, just hold his hand and stand with him. And while he expected - he _hoped_ \- that was enough… he wanted to do more. Something that would help soothe. Something that would help relax. Something that Dorian loved…

An idea struck then, and a smile crossed his face as he pressed their foreheads together. “Me, either,” he said softly, “But I do know something that might… make it better. Wait here for a bit for me, will you? It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

\----

Dorian nodded and sat up a little so Cullen could get up. He stretched out across the couch, kicked off his shoes, and rested his head on his arm as he watched the fire. “It’s always worth it,” he pointed out with a smile, and looked up at his husband.

Maker help him, that man. Cullen was so bright and wonderful and warm, and Dorian loved him so. He loved him more and more every day with his smiles and just how gentle he was. Dorian didn’t know it was possible to love someone so much, had never really had any yardstick for that when he was younger, but then Cullen had come along and changed almost every view he had on love and relationships and everything else. His whole world. Cullen had changed his whole world for the better.

And now the man wanted to do something nice. For him. No one had ever cared so much for _him_ that they’d get up and out of their way to do something nice. Even if it meant just getting up after a long week and a long trip, Dorian had never known that. But Cullen did that. He took care of him in ways that Dorian had never known he’d needed.

\----

“Good to know,” Cullen answered with a grin and leaned down to press a light kiss to the top of Dorian’s head before he grabbed their luggage and made his way upstairs to what had to be the master bedroom. It was a spacious room that was somehow also cozy with a little sitting area, and the bed looked overlarge and awfully inviting, but that was for later. For now, Cullen lifted Dorian’s bag onto the bed, fished out what he was after - Dorian’s bag of sundry toiletries - and made his way to the bathroom.

Just as Dorian had promised, there was a giant tub. It was the focal point of the room, and Cullen immediately added _ridiculously large tub_ to his list of must haves for their future home as he bent to turn on the tap. Dorian liked the water just shy of way too hot, but then again, that’s how Cullen liked it, too. As the water ran, he rummaged through Dorian’s bag of bath stuff. All the oils and salts the man liked had been left at home. A shame, but Cullen would make do. Bath gel worked as a makeshift bubble bath, didn’t it? Either way, he poured a healthy amount in, watched as the water frothed and bubbled and breathed in the familiar scent that was always present on Dorian’s skin. There were candles around the edge of the tub and a lighter in one of the drawers, so Cullen took advantage of that happy coincidence and lit them, too.

While the tub was still filling, he hunted about to find towels that were more like fluffy sheets. Those were placed within easy reach of the tub before Cullen took his phone out and queued up a playlist that he knew Dorian would enjoy. There. Soothing music. Hot bath. Candles. That would surely help take some of that unease Cullen still saw playing around the edges of Dorian’s eyes away… and even if it didn’t, it might help relieve some of the tension Dorian was carrying around with him.

Cullen just wanted something good for Dorian… something good for them. This seemed like a great way to start something _good._

When the tub was as full as he dared, he walked back downstairs where Dorian was still lying on the couch. “Alright you,” he said gently in case Dorian had nodded off to sleep, “Come with me.”


	6. Harmony [2 of 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the two men find solace in one another and look forward to the rest of their lives together.

Once Cullen had wandered off to do whatever it was he was doing, Dorian had half dozed on the couch. He was content to just lie there and enjoy the warmth of the fire and how comfortable the couch was. When Cullen walked away, he’d also half expected to hear him puttering around in the kitchen, but apparently not. So he just stayed where he was, closed his eyes and let his mind drift a little, and took comfort in the fact that they were there alone. It was... nice.

Tevinter was so far away now. That little talk had pushed it to the far edges of his mind. Right now all he cared about was Cullen and them being there. Everything else could wait. He could just drift and relax and not think too hard about the fact that his parents had made their lives miserable for... well, a week, but also for so, so long. He’d have that with him forever. Dorian knew that much. For now, though, he didn’t so much care.

Then Cullen was back and talking to him, and Dorian opened one eye to look up at him, “Where are we going?” Dorian asked sleepily, “not outside, I hope. It’s too cold.”

\----

That sleepy voice almost made Cullen feel bad for trying to rouse Dorian. The man had had precious little sleep since they’d left for Tevinter, and here Cullen was interrupting that. There was the thought to curl up with him on the couch and hold him until he drifted back off… but no. No, Cullen was sure that what he’d put together upstairs would be better. Well, he hoped it would be, anyway. A long soak always made Dorian feel like a new man, after all.

“No,” Cullen chuckled, “I know better than to take you outside after the sun goes down when there’s actual snow on the ground. You’d freeze where you stood, wouldn’t you?” He reached down and took one of Dorian’s hands in his own to help him up. “We’re going upstairs. Come on.”

\----

He moved with Cullen, got to his feet and leaned on him as they walked. Upstairs, he figured, was probably going to be bed. That’s what Dorian had assumed. As they got up to the room, which was even nicer than it had seemed in the pictures, Dorian cocked an eyebrow at Cullen and looked around. The man had been up there for a while, so whatever it was... wasn’t in the bedroom. Not really. So he didn’t know-

Then he smelled the soap he’d brought with him. He could smell it like one of them had just had a shower, but Cullen didn’t look like he had. A quick glance around, though, and Dorian caught sight of candles lit in the bathroom. Oh... Oh, Cullen was _good_. So good.

“Candles?” he asked with a small smile.

\----

“Candles,” Cullen answered with a little smile of his own as he tugged on Dorian’s hand and led him into the bathroom. “And they come with music and a bath,” he chuckled before shuffling his feet around, suddenly sheepish. “I, ah, I hope it’s alright. I used your bath gel… but I thought you could use something to unwind. Something nice. And… I can stay and wash your back or go and leave you in peace. Whatever you need.” Though Cullen still outwardly sniffed at lounging about in the bathtub, he’d come around a bit to Dorian’s way of thinking, and Maker knew he hoped Dorian would want him to stick around. But if he needed time alone… well, Cullen understood that, too.

\----

This was... perfect. Absolutely perfect. Dorian hadn’t really thought about a bath, not yet, but now that it was there for him he couldn’t think of anything better. And for Cullen to offer to stay, too? The tub was big enough for two, for sure, and he just wanted that. All of it. He wanted Cullen there and he really did just want to unwind.

“Will you stay?” he asked as he looked up at Cullen and smiled, “like I’ll pass up a chance to actually have a bath _with_ you.”

\----

That smile was beautiful to see. Dorian was always so beautiful. That would never change, Cullen was sure, and he flushed with pleasure at a job well done. The sheepishness melted away, and Cullen moved closer to help Dorian get out of his clothes. “I hoped you’d say that,” he murmured into Dorian’s ear before pulling Dorian’s sweater over his head. In another context, this would get interesting - and quickly - but that wasn’t, strictly speaking, what this was about. This was about relaxing, letting go, unwinding, and taking another step towards healing - towards normal. So Cullen managed to keep his hands mostly to himself, mostly innocent, as they made short order of pulling off clothes and sinking into that huge tub together. Cullen settled in behind Dorian, laughed as some water splashed over the edge of the inevitably overfull tub, and pressed a kiss to the back of Dorian’s neck. “Maker, that feels… nice. I think maybe we need one of these. You know, in our house.”

\----

If there was anything better than a hot bath, it was a hot bath in the same tub as his husband. The tub was maybe a bit full, and he couldn’t help but smile as it sloshed around them, but it was hot and steamy and perfect. His cold skin ached in the hot water, and it was... amazing. Cullen’s chest at his back was amazing. It was all perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Dorian happily leaned back and turned his head so he could nuzzle in at Cullen’s neck. “Yes,” he agreed happily, “a giant tub for two. I demand it.” One hand brushed along Cullen’s leg under the water, and Dorian sighed, “I’d rather have this than a hot tub or anything like that. Smelling like chlorine isn’t sexy.”

\----

A laugh shook Cullen’s chest, and he circled his arms around his husband for a quick squeeze. “I’d agree with that,” he replied and kissed the side of Dorian’s neck before leaning back against the wall of the tub. His hands trailed slowly around, up, and over to rest on the smooth bronze skin of the other man’s shoulders. In the candlelight, it was like that skin was glowing, and Cullen took a moment to appreciate the look and feeling of that warmth under his hands. After a breath, he started working at the knots in Dorian’s shoulders, gently at first, and he took his time letting strong fingers explore and hunt down all those areas where the stress of the past week still accumulated. Yes, this was the best way to start their time together. Time to unwind and be, with no pressure from the outside… indeed, here, it was just them. “How’s that?” he asked in a low tone, “Ok?”

\----

Oh, but he could have melted for that. Dorian closed his eyes, tipped his head back so it rested on Cullen’s shoulder, and just let himself relax. This pushed Tevinter further away. It was all but gone from his mind now, and instead there was nothing but warmth and love there. Cullen’s light burned away a lot of that anger and hurt, and he was left feeling a bit... raw and vulnerable, but better. Much better. So much better.

“Wonderful,” he sighed, and trailed his fingers over Cullen’s knee, “just... perfect.”

\----

When Dorian leaned back, Cullen's hands stopped working and his arms slid back around him. Maker knew he could have kept that up all night - he loved the feeling of that skin and muscle under his hands - but this was better. Wrapping the man up completely with arms and legs, holding him close, feeling him breathe with nothing between them… Cullen lived for moments like this.

The bath had been for Dorian, to calm lingering nerves and soothe a ragged heart, but Cullen was succumbing to its effects, too. Warm, scented water surrounded them, enveloping and easing muscles and joints that had been crying out against the tension and abuse of the past week. Release. Everything released, and Cullen floated, heavy and happy, connected only to Dorian.

He wouldn't have it any other way, of course.

The longer he sat there, the more his muscles relaxed, and a feeling of boneless content settled. He let go, and his head tilted forward, face nuzzling into Dorian's neck as lips pressed tiny kisses there. Dorian was right. This moment… it was perfect. Even with everything that came before, it was perfect. It would always be. Even when, as Dorian said, it wasn't, it would be.

“Tell me,” he murmured through those light kisses, “When you close your eyes, what is our home going to be? What do you see?”

\----

Those light kisses were so... warm and wonderful. Dorian was so relaxed and calm, and he felt better than he had in a long time. Maker help him, but this was so good. So, so good. He sighed, long and low, and he ran his hands along Cullen’s thighs and he tipped his chin back to look over at his husband.

“Mm,” he sighed happily, “I want... a nice kitchen so we can cook.” Dorian’s voice a bit slow and drifty. “And so maybe we can have your parents or Mia and Will come stay? Or Rosie, when she’s not in school. Then we can bother you with talking about art and anthropology.”

\----

That painted a pretty picture. It was family and warmth and good times with people they loved and who loved them. It was everything Cullen wanted. But more significantly, it was what Dorian wanted, too - even with everything that had just happened with his blood family, he wasn't shying away from the family that truly accepted and loved him. Cullen, of course, would always be there for him, but _so would they_ , and he believed his husband knew that on some level, even though it was hard for him to come to terms with it. Things with family had been shaky at first, and Dorian had been skittish around them, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but that skittishness was slowly melting away into something more natural. Something good. Something whole. Yes, that was it. The family felt whole with him there. Cullen's life was whole with him there.

“Well, it's hardly fair when you two get together, that's for sure,” Cullen laughed softly and kissed Dorian's cheek. “But a big, nice kitchen for everyone would be best. Mom always said the kitchen was the heart of the home… I think I told you that once before. And the rest of it should match. Room to live, you know. Room to grow. Like a spare room or two and a big backyard so the kids can play when they come… with the dog.” Cullen winked over at his husband with a teasing sort of smile. “Have I mentioned the dog yet?”

\----

“You’re ridiculous,” he deadpanned as he shook his head and rested it back against Cullen’s shoulder. On some level, he’d been a bit happy about their current living situation, if only because it means they could always play the ‘our place is too small’ for family functions card. It made it easy when five people was about the limit for how many could fit in there comfortable. That was good in that... well, the idea of everyone coming to their place for Midwinter or anything like that terrified Dorian just a little bit.

Now, though, he didn’t mind it so much.

“You should have room to make a studio,” he went on, “and I’d like space for an office. But I’d really like to see you have space for a studio. The little alcove isn’t good enough for what you’ve been up to lately.”

\----

“Oh, it's fine,” Cullen answered, but that was his kneejerk response for each time Dorian offered to make some other space on the flat work. He really did like being tucked into that space, but as his responsibilities at the studio grew and he brought more and more home with him, it had become less cozy and more… cramped. “Well, ok…” he amended with a nod of his head, “Maybe it _is_ time for more space. And you can have a place to escape to when I'm playing the same phrase over and over again… not to mention a home for all your papers.”

He grinned and kissed Dorian's cheek again before relaxing further into the water. “So we have nice kitchen, gas stove of course, backyard, spare rooms, office, studio, bathroom with basically this tub in it… anything else? I'm thinking lots of light - windows and such. Oh, and a big porch or a deck. With a grill. And we can do a housewarming barbecue… like the wedding. That was a good day.” He was rambling a bit, but he couldn't help it. The whole thing was just so… exciting.

\----

“Mm, that sounds like perfection,” Dorian mused happily, “and lots of wall space. There’s so many pieces I’d like to hang properly, and...i t would be nice to have real room for them.”

He turned and pressed a kiss at Cullen’s jaw before he nuzzled his face in against that warm skin that was warmed even more by the bath. Maker help him, but he loved Cullen so much. He loved him and their theoretical house and their life and everything about it. There wasn’t anything in all the world that was better than this.

Gently, he nipped at Cullen’s earlobe and smiled, “Maybe a nice, big bedroom too. Lots of space to play around in, hm?” he teased, “and maybe something... I don’t know, I like something a bit modern. Open. A lot of the older, traditional places are so small and the rooms are closed off. I’d like something big enough that it all kind of flows together.”

\----

That little nip sent a pleasant shiver down Cullen's spine, despite the warm water all around him. His fingers pressed into soft skin as he tilted his head down, lips ghosting a few kisses at the curve between Dorian's shoulder and neck before he returned a light nip of his own. “Modern, huh?” Cullen asked with a little laugh. “I should've known… I foresee a few interesting conversations in our future. House hunting is no joke… but there's one out there for us. _With_ a nice bedroom… to make those interesting conversations worth it.”

\----

“Not ridiculously modern,” Dorian offered, “I’m not all about those places that look like boxes or anything, but... you know what I mean.” He chuckled for that bite and leaned back a little more so his back was pressed firmly against Cullen’s chest. That was wonderful. This whole thing was wonderful. “Thank you for this, by the way,” he breathed before he took another deep breath and sighed. Now he felt better. He felt more open a lot more like himself.

There was a lull for a while then, and Dorian just let himself relax before he looked up at Cullen, “So... what did Aquinea say to you?” he asked gently, “you said you, uh... let her have it a bit, right?”

\----

Those grey eyes were lovely. They were always so lovely, but for an instant, Cullen saw another version of them. Hard and cold, even when Aquinea had feigned pleasant for the short amount of time she'd hoped Cullen would buy it. He closed his eyes for a breath and shook his head to clear that image away.

“Nothing good,” he answered, opening his eyes. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

But just the fact that Dorian was asking was a good sign. If it meant he was approaching normal - getting stronger - it was a very good sign. Still, this conversation was bound to hurt him. It was bound to hurt them both, reliving a bit of that awful night. As venues for terrible conversations went, though, they could do worse. He just… he wanted to make sure before the words spilled from his mouth.

\----

“I want to know what she said so I can know what you told her,” he answered honestly, “whatever she said... it was supposed to hurt you. I know that. She and Halward will say whatever they think they have to so they can get a reaction.”

He looked back up into that handsome face again, and leaned up to kiss Cullen’s cheek, “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to hold it in. She can be so... just... so _fucking_ manipulative.”

\----

Oh, Cullen knew as much. He'd only spent a week in her presence, had only talked to her directly for a few minutes, but he’d seen as much clear as day. Again, there was a little pang in his heart, just knowing that's what Dorian had grown up with, so he took a moment to squeeze his husband a little more tightly, to kiss his cheekbone and thank the Maker Dorian had just… gotten out of there.

Finally, he nodded, “I saw that. She started off pleasantly enough… or tried to. That smile never really reaches her eyes, does it?” A shiver, less pleasant this time, went down his spine as he thought of those cruel eyes again. “But she said she wanted to know her son's husband… actually said the word… which was… it took me off guard. I didn't expect that… but the act dropped when she realized I wasn't playing. It got… it got nasty after that.”

\----

“I don’t doubt it,” he sighed, “she and Halward had only the Maker knows how much on the both of us. I can only imagine what she tried to use on you.” Dorian lifted his gaze and also one hand so he could cup Cullen’s cheek with one wet hand. He could feel that Cullen was frowning, and he hated that Aquinea had done that to him.

“Whatever she said,” Dorian went on, “whatever she told you I thought or... whatever. You know none of it’s true. You know that. And I hope you told her.”

\----

“I know, love,” Cullen murmured and nuzzled his face into Dorian's neck for just a moment before raising his head again. “Nothing she said about you… I didn't humor any of it. She said you were sick, she said you'd get bored with me, that you weren't the marrying type. Bullshit, all of it. She tried to sound so _concerned_ for my wellbeing, but I told her to drop the act, to stop pretending she cared. I told her they didn’t deserve you and that she wasn't worth my time.” Cullen took a deep breath and sighed heavily on the exhale. “And that’s when the claws really came out, Maker help me.”

\----

Dorian sighed and just brushed his hand over Cullen’s cheek and then up to tangle into the curls at the nape of his neck, “Well, I mean... I _am_ sick.” Except, no... that wasn’t really correct. “Maybe not _sick_ , but there are issues. I take medication for it. But they _made_ me like that. It’s not a weakness. It just is what it is.”

He shook his head, “Not to derail it, but Halward said something about it now. He mentioned that he knew I was going to therapy every week still, and I wanted to tell him that I wouldn’t _have_ to if they hadn’t done what they did. Or ignored the actual problems. You know what I mean.” It still worried him that the ‘claws came out’ because Aquinea’s were meticulously sharp and she wasn’t scared to use them. He knew that far too well.

“What did Aquinea say to you?”

\----

Cullen had opened his mouth to disagree with Dorian when he said he was sick, but closed it immediately when he corrected himself. He wasn’t _sick_ , he just was… and he took care of himself now in ways he hadn’t been when Cullen first met him. That was… that was huge, and Cullen was so proud of him for it.

But here came the hard part. What Aquinea had said to him… he’d handled himself reasonably well with her in the moment, but all those things _lingered_. There was a sense of dread that washed over him, a little voice that cried out not to tell Dorian how her words had resonated with him since that night. But that voice was a relic, proof of how close things had been. Once upon a time, he’d have listened to it… but this wasn’t then, and they were strong enough to deal with it. He was strong enough to tell it… and be honest about it.

“What didn’t she say, is more the question,” Cullen started, voice weary. “She threw everything she could at me after that. The… the drugs, the rehab, that I needed you more than you needed me, that I loved you far more than you loved me… she said that would make me fall apart again and take you down with me. She insisted that I might… that I could _hurt_ you. She said she hoped the Maker would help me with my anger because I’d eventually take it out on you.” Cullen took another long breath, and felt it shaking as he did. “It’s ridiculous. I’d never… not when I’m in my right mind… I’d never _hurt_ you like that. But if… If I ever did fall again… I wasn’t in my right mind then, Dorian. Who knows? Who knows what I could do." His voice had taken on a slightly panicked edge as he voiced the fears that he’d felt the past two days. “What if, right? What if something unexpected just triggers me and sends me over the edge again?” He shook his head, working to even things back out and gain control of his heart. “I know. Logically, I know I have the tools now. I have support. It just… she got to me. I didn’t let her know… I didn’t even know how much she got to me until later… but she did.”

\----

Maker, but Dorian knew what it was like to hear Aquinea whispering all his deep seeded fears and insecurities. He knew that she could be so cold, like the snake of their family crest, and just as slithery. Dorian had lived it first hand, and now Cullen had to. Clearly, Cullen was struggling, but there was something a little sick inside Dorian that was somewhat pleased that there was someone else who _knew_ now. Who _understood_. It was unfair to ask Cullen to have to live that, but now they were connected on a level that Dorian had never had before.

“She does that,” Dorian told him, and moved a bit so he was half on his side to look fully into Cullen’s face. He leaned up, kissed his husband gently, and offered a small smile. “But you _know_ better than she does. Like you said, you _know_ and she _doesn’t_. She thinks that she can shake your confidence and make all that shit come true,” he went on before he kissed Cullen again, “but you’re stronger than she is. And you know better. So do I.”

He moved again so he could sit between Cullen’s legs with his own folded up. Dorian studied Cullen, studied his face, and he just reached out to cup his husband’s cheeks with his hands, “She gets to everyone. It is what it is, but it’s okay. They... got to me too. But you told her what I don’t think anyone’s ever had the nerve to tell her.”

\----

Gentle kisses and gentle hands helped calm Cullen’s heart. The confidence Dorian had in him helped ease that baseless doubt that had been kicking around in the back of his mind for two days. Cullen knew he’d never get back to that dark place again, but hearing Dorian’s words and feeling his love… that felt good. A little smile curled the corners of his mouth up and there was warmth in his eyes as he turned his head to press a kiss into one of Dorian’s palms.

“There’s just a little more,” he began again, “Because she said that I was scared. But when she said that, something odd happened. It was like… a calmness? I wasn’t _angry_ … or scared. But it felt like… like maybe she was. Just because, at the time, it felt like she was pulling everything out because she was desperate. So I told her that. I told her that she was scared… maybe because you don’t _need_ her, that you’re your own person. And you’re a _good_ person, no thanks to them. And then I said I wasn’t going to play her game, and I left her there. Just like that. I didn’t even see her face.”

Cullen took a breath then and shook his head. “Maker’s breath, you have to know that I had a moment in there… a moment where I thought about good you are, how much you sacrificed for me, and that everything good in you is in spite of them… and I’m so fucking proud of you. And I love you. More than I can even say.”

\----

“I love you too,” Dorian said, and leaned in for another kiss. He didn’t care that water sloshed over the side of the tub as he moved, he didn’t care that it was moderately awkward to sit how he was, all he cared about was kissing Cullen so his husband could feel the love move through him. That’s what mattered the most. It mattered more than anything.

He pulled Cullen closer, kissed him more deeply, and when he finally broke the kiss he smiled, “you help heal a lot of that shit, you know?” Dorian asked. He pressed a quick peck to Cullen’s lips, then kissed the tip of his nose like Cullen would so often do to him, “And you are... my absolute hero, do you know that? For standing up to her like that? Maker knows I’ve never really been able to do that, and the fact that you did for _me_ means so much to me.”

They were so close, and Dorian just stroked Cullen’s face. He never tired of touching Cullen, and those touches meant so much to him right now. “They ruined so much. So, so much, but... they can’t ever ruin this. It’s not even a thought in my mind. The fact that you did that, and everything else, I know it. I know it better than I know myself.”

\----

“There's nothing that could ruin anything we have… least of all them,” Cullen agreed as he raised one dripping hand to stroke Dorian's cheek with the back of his knuckles before it came to rest at the curve of his neck. In this moment, he wanted nothing more than to gather his husband back up into his arms, but the way they were sitting… it just wasn't possible. This had to be righted, and soon. “Hey, I have an idea… here, just… move with me….”

It took a bit of doing and a little more water lost over the side for the cause, but eventually they readjusted so they were closer to the center of the tub with Dorian's legs to either side of Cullen's hips. There, that way they could face each other comfortably. That way they could keep talking. That way, Cullen could circle his arms around his husband. Which, of course, is what he did, squeezing him chest to chest for a moment before releasing and letting his hands rest on Dorian's hips, thumbs running slow circles over his warm skin. “That's better,” he breathed with a smile before his face fell into something more serious. “Did… did Halward do something… ah… similar? Try to convince you we're not good together?” Those kisses from before had been so good, Cullen was almost loathe to keep talking about the bad shit… but it seemed like Dorian was ready, and Cullen would do anything to help him just get that poison out.

\----

More water over the edge of the tub, and Dorian just chuckled as he moved with Cullen and slid his legs around his husband’s waist. That closeness was good, and Dorian rested his cheek against Cullen’s shoulder for a long moment before he looked back up and smiled into Cullen’s face. Maker help him, but Cullen was so handsome in the low candlelight. It made his eyes shine even more like liquid amber, and Dorian just...loved him. He loved how Cullen touched him, how the touch calmed him, and he sighed before he just ran his hands over Cullen’s arms.

“Something similar,” he agreed with a nod, “that I was... throwing my life away to be with a junkie, apparently. And to use my brain and think about going back and not doing this just to be different.” Dorian shook his head, “I told him I never wanted to see or hear from them again. I just... I couldn’t listen to him talking about you like that. He could have stabbed me or something and that would have been better.”

\----

Cullen's jaw clenched at that word - _junkie_ \- but it passed. Momentary doubt and fear aside, he knew those days were over. More importantly, _Dorian_ knew those days were over, and it was _his_ confidence in that fact that gave Cullen strength. Dorian believed in him, and that's all Cullen needed in this world.

“Not to me, that wouldn't have been better, thank you,” he said with slightly  teasing tone and leaned in to kiss the tip of Dorian's nose, now that he could. “But this is where I get to tell you that you're _my_ hero… you stood up to _your father_ … for me, a bit yes - and that means more to me than I can say - but also for _you_. They're not good for you, but it’s hard - so hard - to cut poisonous people off like that... I just hope they listened.” Cullen shook his head and sighed before he moved to press their foreheads together. “You really are amazing. I just want that on the record.”

\----

“I felt like I was going to be sick when I walked away,” he admitted, “there’s just this _guilt_ because it’s my _parents_ , you know?” Dorian closed his eyes and sighed, a soft sound, and he trailed his fingers along wet skin just so he could feel it under his hands. “But I can’t handle them doing the same shit anymore. I just can’t. It’s ridiculous and if I didn’t walk away I know it would never fucking _stop_.”

Hearing Cullen say that he was so proud, though, that helped. It soothed him. He wasn’t alone in having to deal with this anymore. He had support and real love. No one would take it from him, and Dorian was so content in knowing that. Still, he couldn’t help the guilt. That would be part of him for a while, he knew that, but it wasn’t going to fester. Not anymore.

“Do you think, and this might be a little immature, but do you think we could maybe call your parents tomorrow?” Dorian asked, “or Mia? I just... it would be nice to hear their voices for a minute. Tell them we love them?”

\----

Amber eyes blinked once and again as Cullen took in that request. He’d known, of course, that Dorian had warmed to his family, that he cared for them, but this was maybe the first time he’d used that word - _love_. Cullen couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, or how he paused just to take in the moment - the way the candle light made Dorian’s skin glow, the way droplets of water had beaded up on his chest and reflected that light like jewels, the way his eyes sparkled even as they looked apprehensive. Dorian was a beautiful man with an equally beautiful heart that had stood against years of abuse without being destroyed. It was… incredible, and the amount of love that washed over Cullen was so strong it made his throat thicken and his eyes prick with heat. Almost instinctively, Cullen drew Dorian in, close and tight, and nuzzled into his neck. “Of course,” he started, though his voice was rough with that emotion, “That would be perfect… just perfect.” Cullen pulled back then and took Dorian’s face in his hands before leaning in for a light kiss. “You know they love you, too. They’ll be happy to hear from us.”

\----

It never ceased to amaze him when Cullen would get choked up over something he said. For all that Cullen was big and burly and looked a bit like a ruffian who would shy away from complicated emotions, he really was warm-hearted and so, so sweet. Emotional. In a good way, though. He didn’t hide it when he was happy or sad or angry from Dorian, and when those amber eyes went red and hot Dorian knew it _meant_ something.

“Maybe we ought to tell them, maybe not tomorrow, but soon that we’re actually going to start looking for a place,” he went on before he kissed Cullen again, “tell them... everything. Maker, I…”

Dorian paused for a moment, a bit choked up himself, and he sucked in a breath as he got a hold of himself. He swallowed thickly, and looked back up into those beautiful eyes, “it’s just... it might be a little stupid, but it would be nice to maybe tell them. And maybe, you know, I could _really_ use a hug from your mom right about now. Or... when we see them again. You know what I mean.”

\----

“Maker knows she has a surplus of hugs,” Cullen laughed as he wiped at his eyes a bit. They'd teared up, of course they had, but that stinging water in his eyes was from happiness. On the back of the week they'd had, on the back of sharing how much it had hurt them both, he was _happy_ there with his husband. Truly happy to his core that his life had gone the way it had - dark shit and all - that he’d wound up with this man in this bathtub in this moment. “Mom's the best with this kind of stuff. If you're comfortable, it'd definitely be a good thing to talk to her... but you know we'll have to get Dad to promise he'll make sure she doesn't hop on the first plane to Tevinter to hunt down your parents the moment we turn our backs.”

\----

That was a hilarious mental image, actually. For a moment he imagined stern Halward and cold Aquinea meeting loving Lizzie and quiet (yet caring) Stanton. It made him wrinkle his nose and he actually _laughed_ a little. “I think I would pay money to see your parents meet mine,” Dorian replied, “not that I’d ever want to actually put them through that, but could you _imagine_?”

\----

“Maker help us all if that ever happens,” Cullen laughed as he brought his hand around between them, watching as he swirled water and bubbles all around “She doesn't let it show, but Elizabeth Rutherford has a fierce streak a mile wide.” He balled his hand into a loose fist, partly submerged in the water. “You won't even know it's coming and then _bam_ she's got you.” With that, he squeezed his fist together suddenly. He'd only meant for a little splash, just for effect, but that little splash turned into a larger spurt of water… that splashed right up and just reached Dorian's face. Cullen blinked for a second, and then laughed with twinkling eyes. He couldn't help it. There were actual drops of water forming and falling from that perfectly curled mustache, and Cullen couldn't keep himself from snickering. “Whoops… I swear I didn't mean to do that…”

\----

Dorian blinked, and started laughing. Maker help him. Maker help them both. “Oh, _sure_ ,” he laughed, and quickly splashed Cullen back. They were going to have a _good_ time this week. That much was a fact. The fact that they could go from talking about that terrible time talking about his parents to splashing each other in the tub. It was ridiculous. It really was.

“I’m going to get your hair now,” Dorian laughed, and cupped his hands so he could try to pour it over Cullen’s hair.

\----

“No, no… not the hair,” Cullen protested, playfully pushing back and giving Dorian a splash for good measure, but it was too late. A double handful of water ran down through his blond curls, and he pushed wet strands of hair out of his face as he flashed Dorian a mischievous look. “Well, it’s on now. This, sir, is war.” He scooped his hands under the water and sent a return volley back down over Dorian’s head. There was already water all over the floor to be mopped up later… a little more wouldn’t hurt anything at this point.

This was… fun. So much fun… and that’s part of why he loved the man laughing and splashing him back so much. They always somehow managed to find this fun together - there were always smiles and laughter waiting when the skies cleared.

\----

They spent a long while just splashing each other and laughing. Dorian couldn’t help but but keep laughing, keep smiling, and this was just... everything he needed. Cullen was everything he needed. He was everything he _wanted_. He was perfect, and Dorian loved him so.

When the splashing finally settled, they were soaking wet all over. And he leaned over to press a kiss to Cullen’s shoulder. “This was the best idea ever,” he murmured, “the bath and... everything. This is just what I wanted.”

\----

Still chuckling, Cullen cupped Dorian’s face with both hands and gently wiped the water away from his face with his thumbs. “We’re a mess, you know,” he answered in a low tone, “An absolute, perfect mess. This is going to be a _good_ week, love...” He ducked his head down a bit to catch Dorian’s lips in a kiss, slow and thorough, as one arm curled around his husband to pull him in closer and the other slid up and buried fingers into waves of wet, dark hair. Teeth nipped at Dorian’s full lower lip before Cullen pulled back just enough to murmur, “We deserve it, don’t you think?”

\----

He nodded against those warm lips, and Dorian just smiled, “Maybe we should get out of here, hm?” he asked, “we’ll clean all this up tomorrow. I think bed would be good, don’t you?”

Falling into bed, for either sex or just falling asleep curled up together, would be amazing. Dorian didn’t mind either, since they had all week to do whatever they wanted. The bed would be big and warm and comfortable, and if he got to have Cullen’s arm around him, then it would be even better.

\----

“I think it's time. Any longer and we'll be prunes,” Cullen agreed as he leaned forward to flip the switch that would drain the tub. He took full advantage of how that movement left him pressed against Dorian and savored the warmth between them as he pressed kisses along that beautiful bronze shoulder and up Dorian's neck, teeth grazing briefly over the other man’s pulse. “... and that bed is awfully inviting, if you ask me.”

Luckily, he'd had the foresight to place their towels where they'd stay dry. He untangled himself with some difficulty to rise and hold a hand out to his husband. “Need a hand up?”

\----

After all of the soap and bubbles, the tub was a bit slick and he got to his feet with a bit of help. Dorian smiled, ducked his head to kiss Cullen’s jaw, and stepped over the edge of the tub and onto the wet and slightly squishy towel that was on the floor. Their splashing and everything had really done a number on the floor, but... it was well worth it. He grabbed up the two towels and held one out to Cullen as he started to rub the other over his face and hair to start it drying at least a bit. His dark waves stuck up at odd angles, which he knew Cullen loved, and winked.

“Oh, inviting is a good word for it,” Dorian agreed, “big bed with lots of room. I like the idea of that.” Now that they were up and doing a bit, too, the idea of sleep was looking less and less likely. After all that fun, Dorian wanted a long night of Cullen making love to him. He wanted that closeness and that comfort to make him feel even better. That’s what this week was all about, wasn’t it?

“Come on,” he prompted, “I think tonight’s a good night for you to just…” Dorian paused, slightly for dramatic effect but mostly so he could take in the sight of Cullen naked in the candlelight, “ _wreck_ me.”

\----

Right then, Cullen realized two things: 1. with all that had been going on over the past week or so, it had been a while any _wrecking_ had happened and 2. he really wanted it to happen. Tonight. _Now._ More, he _needed_ it, the pleasure of it, yes, but also that closeness. The feeling that there was nothing but the two of them in the world and nothing between them at all.

The towel that had been at work drying out dripping locks of golden hair hung from his hand as he stepped out of the tub and sidled up to his husband, face plainly wearing that need in the way his lips curled and his eyes sparked desire. His free hand grabbed the other end of the towel and, with a flick of his wrists, flipped the towel over Dorian's head to encircle him and pull him in close, chest to chest. “I think,” he breathed, “I can oblige.” And then his lips were on Dorian's, more heated than it had been in days, but still not enough.

\----

There was a lot of time to make up for. It had been a long week anyway, but with everything else it felt like it had been so much longer. Dorian had _needed_ Cullen, needed his closeness and his love all around him, and when they finally fell asleep he felt completely protected, sated, and happy. It felt like it had been weeks since he was happy. Cullen did that, though. Cullen helped pull him through the darkness so he could come out on the other side with a smile and feel like things were better than they had been before.

Which was what that week was about. It was about making their time together, their _anniversary_ , better than anything else. And  _oh_ , it was perfect. Long hours in bed, long hours in front of a roaring fire with blankets and hot chocolate, Cullen on his guitar... all of it healed so much of that pain from before. It was another scab, another scar over Dorian’s heart, but Cullen helped to soothe the itch and the ache that came with it. They curled up together, murmured words of love to one another, and just basked in the warmth and the love that came from just being together.

A whole year together. Well, of course it was longer than a year, but they’d managed to get through the first year of _marriage,_ and every day Dorian felt like their lives got better and better. The week in Tevinter might not have really added to that, but the aftermath of it certainly felt like it had pushed them forward and closer. They could look over the old pictures Dorian had grabbed and laugh together, talk more freely about more of the past without feeling anxious about it, and in a weird way it opened up even more lines of communication. They already had so many, but more was never a bad thing. It made Dorian feel like he shared even more with Cullen, like they were linked even more together, and that warmed him.

They had the rest of their lives now, with new plans and new decisions to make, and Dorian was _excited_ like he’d been excited to get married. He was excited to build a life with Cullen, with the family, and to extend it now. Even more, he was _excited_ to share it. He was excited to tell Stanton and Lizzie and Mia and Bran and Rosie that they planned to get a real house that they could come stay in. It was... it was all just so _good,_ and every day Dorian woke up and thanked the Maker that he had so much good in his life now. It had been a long time coming, in his opinion, and now that he had it, there was no way he was letting go of it.

_And in the end, the love you take_

_Is equal to the love you make_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we called this one "Encore," like there might not be any more after... but that's not, strictly speaking, correct. We may never be done with these boys. ^.^;


End file.
